


Canadian Nights

by Mofic



Category: X-Men Movieverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mofic/pseuds/Mofic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are stories within stories as Logan leads the expedition to form a mutant outpost in Canada and he and Scott stay in touch by phone and email.</p><p>Sequel to We're Not What You Think</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canadian Nights

Chapter 1: The Story of the Blind Mutant

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Keeping in touch and Past lives

Thanks for calling the other day, Logan. It was good to hear your voice. I'm really glad you took on this assignment of Charles's - both for your sake and for ours. There's nobody else we have who could do it. You know that part of the country better than anyone else on the team. And I'm glad things are working out well with you and 'Ro working and traveling together. Glad, too, that you said it wasn't the same as traveling with me. I'd be kind of disappointed if it were.

You said you wanted to hear more about my pre-X-Men days. I think I should say up front that I've had some misgivings about what I've told you already. I never said a word to Jean or anyone else about how I managed when I was on my own. I'm sure Charles never said anything, either - he's pretty much the apotheosis of discretion. So, nobody knows about my somewhat less than virtuous past but you and him. Oh, and a couple hundred men, of course. Well, they don't know who and what I am now and I think it's safe to say that none of them would recognize the kid they picked up in Cyclops, Field Leader of the X-Men. Of course, it's likely that none of them would have touched me back then if they'd known I was a mutant.

It's not the kind of adolescent experience I'd recommend, in general. I really haven't thought about that time in my life in ages, but I've been mulling over it since we spoke. It seems like a million years ago and so far away. You know, "but that was in another country and besides, the wench is dead." Well, at least that's how it feels from this vantage point, thinking about what it was like to have no home, no family, no place in the world. I was afraid pretty much all the time. Prostitution is a scary way to make a living, or at least I found it so. My current job isn't exactly danger-free, but somehow it's considerably less frightening. Or maybe I've just become more accustomed to living with fear.

Although, truth be told, a lot of what was scary about that time wasn't specific to the work but was just the consequence of being on my own on the streets of New York City at the tender age of fifteen. I had lived a pretty sheltered life up until that point and really was ill-prepared for life without adult protection, all that Boy Scouts "Be Prepared" stuff notwithstanding.

Some of what was frightening was due to trying to hide out, trying to pass as normal, or close to it. I had just come into my powers and the only way I could manage to keep the fact that I'm a mutant hidden was to pass as blind. Well, I was blind, really. No ruby quartz glasses back then, no idea that there even was such a thing. So I was trying to pass as just an ordinary blind guy. I had really dark glasses and just kept them on all the time and kept my eyes tightly closed behind them. Had all sorts of invented excuses for that if anyone took the glasses off and noticed they were closed. Got myself a white cane. Did my best to blend in, not to let on that my eyes were deadly weapons I couldn't control.

So, yes, I was a rent boy, as you put it. Well, at fifteen and without vision or much of an education I didn't have a lot of marketable skills other than sex, Logan. I was thankful I had one. And thankful that there were plenty of men who were willing to pay for it.

It was hard, though. Some of them took advantage of me. Pretty easy to cheat a blind boy and there are always those who like taking what is easy. Not so easy to beat up a blind boy - or at least this one. Not as easy as some of them thought it would be. That's when I really learned how to fight.

Some of them were pretty nice to me, though. The nicest was this one guy who put me up in an apartment for a while. Kept me, I guess. He lived somewhere out in the far 'burbs but had a pied-a-terre in Manhattan. And he'd tell his wife he was working late and stay there with me during the week. It was just a tiny studio apartment, but it felt like paradise after being on the streets and not knowing where I'd be each night. And he even let me stay there during the day while he worked and on the weekend when he was home with his wife. He was the only one who ever did that, ever let me be somewhere of his when he wasn't there. I saw myself as Scheherazade - just concentrated on keeping him happy one more night. Yes, melodramatic, I know, but I was fifteen and somewhat prone to melodrama. In the end, it wasn't much like Scheherazade - I didn't get anywhere near a thousand and one nights.

Thirty-seven to be precise. Yes, all these years later I still remember just how many nights. Paradise ended when his wife wanted to come into the city for the weekend - shopping and a Broadway show. He said I could come back on Monday, but he lied. Or maybe he just got scared off over the weekend with her. Maybe she found something out or guessed something. Anyway, the doorman told me I couldn't go up when I showed up on Monday. I called him at his office again and again, but he never took my calls. I was back on the streets. And stayed there until Charles found me, about a year later.

And the work itself? Well, sometimes it was fun. More often than not, though, I just pretended to enjoy it. Provided service with a smile, but it wasn't a sincere one, generally. I was pretty sure by then that I preferred men to women, but I didn't usually find myself attracted to the men who were my clients. And I found the whole thing kind of degrading. Well, that was the appeal of it for some of them, I think. Bending me to their will, feeling like only what they wanted counts, getting off on the power. That whole power and control thing can be a fun game sometimes, a turn on sometimes, as you know well. It wasn't a game with those guys, though. Or at least I didn't feel like I was playing. It was all about survival to me, and I was willing to do whatever it took to have food and a place to sleep for another night.

So, it wasn't a real great introduction to working life, or to independent living, or to life as a mutant. We often get kids at school who've been through something similar. I don't tell them that I was once where they are - I guess I'm just too much of a coward to do that. I do try to tell them, though, that it will get better, that they are somewhere safe now, somewhere with adults who will take care of them. They're just too young at fifteen or sixteen or seventeen to take care of themselves entirely. I was too young, too. And I can't go back in time and give fifteen-year-old Scott a sense of safety, but I can do it for these kids. I've found that helping them has been healing for me, too.

I do have to say that I learned something from almost every man I was with during that time, so I got something lasting out of the experience. And let's face it - you're the beneficiary of what I learned from them, Logan. Or at least you have been and you will be again if you come back here. If you still want me.

Scott

P.S. So, we both have times in the past we're none too proud of. I don't think trading sex for money or food is the sum total of who I am. You know what I mean?

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Keeping in touch and Past lives

You said, in part:

&gt;You know that part of the country better than  
&gt;anyone else on the team.

Don't push it. I agreed to do this one assignment, not to join your team. I wore one of your uniforms, Scott, when we went against Magneto (Hey, I guess that was the first time I got into your pants) but I'm not one of your X-Men.

I think we have a couple of good possibles for spots for the new school and center. We're looking for places that aren't just defensible but also where we can build in a way that won't look like an armed camp, where a defended center can be built fairly inconspicuously. I think not being noticed is going to be our first line of defense. Well, there are plenty of places not to be noticed in Western Canada. Cold places, though. I'm thinking the weather is going to be a bit of an adjustment for transplanted New Yorkers. Maybe better to move the first residents up in the summer. We're a long way from that point, though. 'Ro and I are going to call the professor and talk about the two locations we have in mind and see how he wants to proceed.

What you told me about your early days was very different than what I expected. I didn't know - or maybe didn't remember - that you were so young for all of that. I guess I was thinking more about hearing some sexy tales, not something about a kid just trying to survive. I'm sorry for that. Those men who used you are right up there with the Weapon X people for me - I can't understand them at all. In my books, adults using kids for sex are committing an unforgivable crime, a capital crime. Tell me the name of the studio apartment guy and I'll find him. And make sure he knows why it's happening before he dies. I don't know if I've ever said this to you, but I do think that what you and the others are doing in giving mutant kids a safe place to live and learn is a great thing.

I hope you aren't regretting too much telling me about that. Hey, you can trust me to be discreet. You know that, don't you? I haven't told any of your secrets, ever. I don't talk a lot, anyway. It's not hard for me to keep mum about stuff. And no, I don't think it's the sum total of who you are. I don't think it's even something you did - I think it's something fate, or circumstances, did to you. And, as you said, some good came out of it. You learned how to fight. You learned how to give great blow jobs. And yes, I know, I've benefited from both of those skills of yours.

I miss you, Scott. I miss the sex - a lot. Not just the sex. Talking to you, listening to you. Being with you. When things start feeling kind of tough I can hear you say to me "We're a damaged people in a hostile world, but we can help each other." You've helped me a lot, and I thank you for it. I'm not really looking beyond this project, but I'm glad to have the project now. Glad to have you, even if only as a pen pal.

Logan

P.S. Tell me a story, Scheherazade. Give me something to think about when I wake up in the middle of the night.

===============================================================================================

Chapter 2: The Story of Scott and the Fair Boy Scout

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: A Story and Some Other stuff

Yes, Sire. Your wish is my command. Okay, this one happens to be a true story. If you find, Great Sultan, that you wish to have more stories from your Humble Servant, some of the others might just be fairy tales. No puns, please.

Once in the far off land of Indiana lived a boy named Scott, who loved being a Boy Scout. Loved the uniform, the Scout Oath, the handbook. The camping trips, the camaraderie. But mostly I loved Jack.

He was two years older than me and just about everything I wanted to be: smart, athletic, funny, popular. And beautiful, in a blond and outdoorsy sort of way. I think my tastes have matured since then, but my standard of beauty at the time was the kind of guy who could have graced a Hitler Youth recruitment poster.

He never noticed me, although I followed him around like one of Lorenz's goslings. Watched everything he did, hung on his every word. He spent his time with the older boys. There was a group of four of them in our troop and they used to go off together sometimes for a while during camping trips. They'd come back smelling of peppermint candies. Us younger boys were divided into those who knew the older kids were off drinking beer and those who were sure they were out in the woods smoking pot. The scoutmaster seemed not to notice or care about their absences.

Then there was this one camping trip and none of Jack's friends were there. Bill had dropped Scouts altogether - decided it wasn't cool any more. Steve was sick and Dave had some sort of family event that weekend and couldn't come. So, it wasn't that Jack was suddenly recognizing my great assets as a friend or anything, but he didn't want to hang out entirely by himself and there I was. He suggested we share a tent. I couldn't believe my luck, had visions of going for walks with Jack, talking late into the night with Jack. My buddy Jack.

And he took me off with him just as if I were one of his crowd. It was beer, as it turned out. I didn't like the taste of it but didn't want to admit it. We got a little silly drinking our beers, telling dumb jokes and laughing so hard. Jack was laughing and laughing at something I had said and just about doubled over, putting his hand on my leg, telling me what a good line it had been. And he stopped laughing and just kept his hand there and it felt like I thought lightning would feel if it warmed you while it shocked you.

We came back smelling of peppermint and I basked in the envious stares of the other boys. That night Jack and I did indeed talk late into the night. Well, mostly he talked and I listened. Mostly he talked about his girlfriend - about how beautiful she was, about how much he wanted her, about how he had tried just about everything to get into her pants but she wouldn't let him fuck her. Hindsight is always clear, but at the time I had no idea why it upset me to hear that. Well, I said sympathetic things at appropriate intervals, just to make sure he knew I was listening. And, even if I didn't like his choice of topics, it was just glorious to be so close to him, whispering together in the night. We fell asleep right next to each other, close enough that I could reach out and touch him.

When I woke in the night, though, it was the other way around: he was touching me. I was sleeping on my side and he was behind me, pressed hard against me. Hard indeed. And whispering in my ear. "You'll let me, won't you, Scott? You wouldn't say 'no'? You know I need it, don't you?" You know, Logan, maybe it was because I was still half asleep, or maybe because I was incredibly naive, but I didn't even know what he was asking me. I just knew that he wanted me to say "yes". So, I did.

It hurt. He had to know more about this than I did, but maybe not that much. I guess he didn't know how to get into me without hurting me. Anyway, it wasn't just pain. It felt good, too, sort of all around and under the hurting. Filled up by him, his hot breath on the back of my neck. Holding me tight, his arms round me as he moved in and out. I took his hand and put it on my cock. He took it eagerly, holding and stroking with his hand on me. Pumping me with his fist while he pumped into me. Talked to me the whole time, too, telling me how good it felt to fuck me. Made me come with his hand on me, then he came deep in my ass. When he pulled out I turned around and tried to kiss him, but he turned away. Said he didn't kiss boys. Strange the rules people set for themselves, no? Well, I do love kissing, but it was good in its own way, even without that.

So, in case you've been wondering, that's the story of the first time for this Boy Scout. And Jack? Well, he didn't pay much attention to me after that. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Part of me was disappointed - I really wanted to do it again. I really wanted him. But I was conflicted, too. The idea of sex with another boy was way scary - maybe not doing that and not spending time with him I wouldn't have to think about it. I didn't want to think about what it meant - what it meant about me, about who and what I was. Funny, I didn't think it meant anything about Jack, just me. I'd see him with his girlfriend - at school or around town - and he still seemed the model of Healthy American Manhood. Not somebody who liked to fuck Boy Scouts. I guess if I had thought about it, I'd figure he just used me as a substitute since she wouldn't let him. After all, he didn't even kiss boys.

But mostly I didn't think about it. It was kind of a conundrum, confusing and disturbing and scary. I dealt with the confusion by not dealing with it, by not thinking about Jack or about sex. So, I went no more a roving. I concentrated on school, worked my ass off, got all A's that semester. And then I came into my powers and my life turned upside down. I didn't have the time or energy to pine after Jack. And pretty soon I was in a whole other world where sex had a very different function in my new life.

Okay, so was that at least a little diverting for a wakeful midnight Sultan? What is it that's waking you in the night, Logan? Write back and tell me about it. I wish I were with you, instead of just writing to you. I'd keep you occupied when you woke.

I'm glad you're finding the assignment worthwhile, glad you and 'Ro have a couple of possible locations in mind. Sorry about the over-reaching in referring to you as part of the team. And, no, I'm not going to give you the name of the studio apartment guy. You know, Logan, in principle I agree with you - adults shouldn't be having sex with teenage kids. I see red (well, even more than usual) when we get students here who have been used that way. OTOH, I don't think I would have survived if not for men who wanted a fifteen-year-old boy, who wanted sex with me enough to pay for it. And that guy in particular was good to me: kind and thoughtful and caring. A sweet and gentle lover and a good teacher. I wish it had lasted longer but I'm grateful to him for those 37 nights. If, by some strange twist of fate, our paths crossed again, I'd thank him. And then tell him to get out of town before you come back.

Oh, and Logan, I do trust you to keep my secrets. I'm sorry if it sounded like I didn't. I haven't worried about that for a long time. Early on I was scared that you'd tell Jean about you and me, long before I was ready to tell her myself. But mostly I worried because you wouldn't promise me not to. I've learned since to judge you less by what you say (or don't) and more by what you do. It wasn't worry that you'd tell anybody about my past that was causing the misgivings. More like worry that it would change how you felt about me, that you'd think less of me for it.

Scott

P.S. So, which do you think that the powers-that-be in the Boy Scouts would be more upset about? The homosex, or the fact that they were harboring a mutant in their midst?

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: A Story and Some Other stuff

It was a fine story, Scheherazade. And I'm glad Jack was another scout and not the scoutmaster. Now I don't have to kill him. I imagine there are a few Jacks in Indiana and it might take a while to do all of them. And right now I just can't spare the time. I've got this assignment I'm working on.

What wakes me in the night? Nightmares, mostly. What was that line you taught me? "I am worn out with dreams." That's me. It's getting worse, I think.

Sometimes it's just memories and regrets. Thinking about what I might have been, who I could have been if things had been different. Sometimes faces of people long dead. Sometimes memories from the Dark Days.

It's nice to have something else to think about. I like thinking about you in the night, Scott. I'd like it better if I could be touching and not just thinking. Well, maybe I'll call again sometime. Would you talk to me if I called you in the night? Would you tell me stories that chase the demons away? Would you tell them real enough that it would almost be like being with you?

The Professor wants us to meet with reps from some group called Alpha Flight - sounds like a Canadian version of the X-Men. He thought they might have some input on which is better of our two locations. I think he's also hoping that some of them will join in on the development of the new center. Anyway, we have an appointment to see a guy known as Northstar tomorrow to talk to him about the whole project and show him the sites. If he's interested we'll set something up for later on, including other members of his group. 'Ro called him in Quebec today. I was surprised he was planning on getting here so quickly, but she says he tends to go places pretty fast.

I don't think less of you for knowing what happened to you as a kid, Scott. I'll say something back to you that you said to me once: you can tell me anything and I will try to understand and I will always want to be your friend. I'd still like to kill that guy, though. Sure you don't want to tell me his name?

Logan

P.S. Fuck the powers-that-be in the Boy Scouts. They should have been grateful to have you. I know I am.

========================================================================================================

Chapter 3: The Story of the Nightmare and What Happened After Waking

"Scott?"

"Yes. Scott, here. Oh, Logan, is that you?"

"Yeah. Did I wake you up?"

"No. I had to get up anyway to answer the phone."

"Very funny. Do you want to go back to sleep?"

"No. Just give me a minute to clear my head. I'm a little disoriented now that the adrenaline has stopped pumping. I was grabbing my visor. And a uniform. As well as the phone. You know how it is - calls in the middle of the night... Umm, I'm a little tangled up. Hang on a second... Okay, that's better."

"What happened?"

"Oh, I stopped trying to get dressed when I realized it was you, and turned around and sat down. But then I got the cord mixed in with the uniform. Just got messed up switching from Hero Mode to Sleepy Guy Mode. But I've switched phones. And I'm back in bed. How are you?"

"I'm okay. Just wanted to hear your voice."

"You sound a little shaky. Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"So, what's left of the room you're in?"

"Not too much. I've got to do something about this before there isn't a motel in North America that will let me in the door."

"Is 'Ro in the next room? Can you get her to wake you up when you start? She could call your room or rap on the wall or something. She doesn't have to come in there."

"She must be the world's soundest sleeper. Sometimes there's an irate guy on the other side knocking on the wall, waking me up, but never 'Ro. She just emerges in the morning, looking disgustingly well-rested. She keeps trying to get me to take some herbal remedy she thinks will help me sleep more peacefully, but I can't bear to try that shit."

"Maybe you should, Logan. 'Ro knows what she's talking about with that stuff. She's a little closer to nature than most of us. Give it a try, huh?"

"You telling me to get off the phone and go take the herbs?"

"No, Logan, I'm not. Not at all. I want to talk to you. Really. I'm telling you that I think you should talk to 'Ro tomorrow about the herbs, give them a try. So, where are you now?"

"Desk chair."

"There's a phone by the bed, right? Motels always have a phone by the bed. Get back into bed. We'll be in bed together."

"Okay, Cyclops. We're in bed together. Not exactly like some of my fonder memories of being in bed with you, but I'll take what I can get. So, you awake now?"

"Yeah. I'm fine now. Hey, I was dreaming, too. But it was a good one, mostly. And pretty true to life. Picking you up in a bar, like that time I found you in Medicine Hat. You not having any idea who I was, but I sure knew you. Missed you so much; glad to see you finally. Excited, but also sad that you didn't remember me. It was all there in the dream, just like I felt it when it happened. Even touching you accidentally on purpose and being scared about how you would react.

"Oh, only in the dream it was a different place. Definitely not in Medicine Hat - much more urban and sophisticated. Maybe some place in the City. Oh, and I was wearing my uniform and visor. Dreams can be so strange. Can you imagine me walking into a bar in uniform? But in the dream not only did nobody notice, it didn't even feel strange. And you didn't ask me about it or anything."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's not totally unrealistic. There are bars where you'd fit in in black leather. Or so I've heard. So, what happened next? Did I fuck you right then and there, like I wanted to? Or go back to the motel with you, like we did in real life?"

"You took me back to your room. Oh - that's different. Yeah, in the dream you were the one who had a room. You still had my motorcycle. I still pretended to think it was yours and asked you if I could drive. I could feel you pressed against me on the way there. So, we had gotten in the room and you had me up against the wall. We were kissing and you were starting to take my uniform off when the phone rang. In the motel room in the dream. In my room here in real life. So, that was my dream. Do you want to tell me yours, Logan?"

"I don't know if I can. I'm not sure I remember it all. It was kind of fragmented. Part of it was the surgery - that always seems to be part of it. And part was being attacked by wolves. All these wolves, just coming at me. Killing them all. Blood and fur all over the place. And I was really feeling sorry for the wolves, sorrier than I've felt for lots of people I've killed. They were just being wolves, for fuck's sake. I didn't want to have to kill them. Oh, and it was really cold. So cold. I felt like I'd never get warm again. I was out in the snow and I didn't have any clothes or anything. Like they wanted me totally unprotected. Or maybe just to make me more like an animal myself, so they didn't have to think about doing this to a person. And there were these dead wolves that were the only warm things around, so I kind of huddled up with their bodies. And someone said 'Let him inside. It's fifteen below out there and he's naked.' And then another voice - The Doctor's - saying 'No. He can come inside in the morning. It'll toughen him up to spend the night out there.' I think that part happened, Scott. Sometimes on a really cold day I shiver and then I hear him saying that."

"Oh, Logan. I'm sorry. God, I hate what they did to you."

"Yeah, you and me both, bub. Look, you can go back to sleep if you want. I'm okay now."

"I don't want to go back to sleep. I'm glad to talk to you. I wish I were with you, though. I hate what these nightmares do to you, you know. But I do love trying to make you forget them."

"Nobody can make me forget like you. Really."

"So, who's been trying to make you forget?"

"No one. Not since I left you. Would you mind if someone did?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I want to know."

"Well, I don't know, Logan. I mean, I want to be with you. If you tell me you're fucking someone else, I'm going to be envious, anyway. Going to wish that it were me there with you. But would I be jealous, too? Would I feel like I don't want you to touch anybody else? I really don't know. I certainly don't have any right to feel that way about you. I don't have any claim on you. You've never made any kind of commitment to me. And I'm not exactly free and clear myself - Jean and I are still trying to figure out where our relationship is going. As your friend I should be happy if you were managing to find some distraction from the nightmares. I know you find that sex helps, so it would be a good thing if you were getting some. But how we feel and how we should feel are often two different things. So I'm back to 'I don't know'. I certainly don't ask that you wait for me. I do ask that you tell me the truth, though. Let me know if there's somebody else - let me see how I feel. And I realize I'm kind of on shaky ground making a request like that. I haven't exactly been a model of probity in my own sex life."

"I'd tell you, Scott. I'll let you see how you feel about it."

"Thanks."

"So, Scott... You still in bed?"

"Mm hmm."

"What are you wearing?"

"Boxers and a t-shirt. How about you?"

"Nothing."

"I like that mental picture. So, Logan, we're lying in bed together. You're sitting up? Lie down now. Okay? Now, we're lying down together. I've got my arms around you. I'm stroking your back, gently. That helps, right? That makes you feel better, doesn't it? Feel me, Logan, get rid of the dream. It's warm and we're together. No wolves, no snow. Just you and me in bed. 'Safe from the frost and the snow; safe from the storm and the sun.' I'm holding you, Logan, holding you safe. Now I'm kissing you - on the cheek, feeling that rough stubble. On the neck. On your mouth. I've got my hands on the back of your head now, got my fingers in your hair. Can you feel me against you? Can you feel my hands in your hair? Can you feel my mouth on yours?"

"Yeah, Scott. I can feel it. It feels good. Keep going."

"Okay. Take my hand - one of my hands - off your head. That's right. Put it on your dick, Logan. Let me feel it getting big in my hand. Use your own hand, Logan. Let it be mine for a minute. That's right. Those are my fingers wrapped around you. That's my hand moving up and down. You can feel it. You can feel me. Keep going. Okay, now tell me what you want."

"I want to fuck you, Scott. I want you to lie face down - what do you say? prone? - on my bed and I want to stick it in you. Okay?"

"More than okay, Logan. I'm getting the lube out of the drawer now. I'm not turning over yet because I want to watch it going on you, want to put it on you. I'm spreading it all over your cock, making you all slick and slippery. Okay, you're ready. Now I'm turning over. Get me ready now, Logan. Stick a slick finger into me. Yeah, that's right. Oh, yes. That's a good spot. Do that some more. I like that. A lot. Okay, now another finger. Mm hmm. I love your hands, Logan. Open me up. That's right. I'm ready now, Logan. You can lie on top of me. Stick it in me. Yes, all the way. That's right. So deep. Good. Real good. Just stay still for a minute, okay? I just want to feel you on top of me, all over me and in me before you really start.

"Okay now. You can start moving. That's right - in and out. Oh, I love those long slow strokes of yours. You hit just the right places with them. And I can feel you all over me. That's right. Keep using your hand, Logan. Pretend it's me. You're inside me. You're pushing in and pulling out. Faster now. Harder. I like it hard. I like how you fuck me. I love it. You're so good. More, Logan. Harder. Faster. Come for me. You can do it. You're almost there. I can hear it in the sounds you're making. A little bit harder. A little bit faster. Yes... Yeah, that's it. That's what I like to hear. Okay... Feel better?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling fine. Thanks, Scheherazade. It was a good story."

"I get to live another night?"

"Oh, yeah. Good night, Scott."

"Good night, Logan. Keep in touch. Send me some email."

==================================================================================

Chapter 4: The Story of the Lovers Who Quarreled

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject:

Thanks for helping me out last night, Scott. I was kind of in a bad way and really needed a friendly voice. You gave me that, and then some. It was good. Better than I thought it could be. Not quite like the real thing, but good. I don't have much of an imagination, but you know what to say, how to make it seem real for me. First with the email and now on the phone. Hey is that one of your mutant powers, too? Or do you just know me well enough to know how to turn me on, even from a distance? Can I call you again if I need it? As the commercials used to say, long distance is the next best thing to being there.

So, see, I'm showing my appreciation by writing to you right away, not waiting for you to write to me and just responding. Turns out entering your email address wasn't so hard after all.

I wanted to fill you in on what happened with the Alpha Flight guy. I was going to tell you last night on the phone, but then I got distracted. Not that I'm complaining or anything.

It sounds like they are very interested in the project. Northstar's going back to report to his leaders and then I think we're going to have a meeting with them. They want to talk to the professor some more. Maybe to you, too. He seemed to think their bosses would want to meet with X-Men leaders. He's suggesting it might be better if one of their team serves as a front for the land purchase. They believe it's going to be simpler, legally, if a Canadian citizen is the buyer. I think I'm a Canadian citizen (I'm not sure of much about my past), but generally when you're buying land they expect you to have some sort of id card or other credentials, I guess. Or at least a full name.

This Northstar guy - he asked 'Ro about you. Asked a lot - wanted to know how you are, what you're doing, if you and Jean are married yet. She seemed a little uncomfortable talking to him about you but she answered. Said that you weren't married yet and hadn't set a date - didn't say anything about the separation. He kind of turned to me in the middle of it all and apologized, saying it was probably boring for me to hear all of this but that you and him are old friends. I didn't think I should say anything about you - didn't know what you'd want me to say. I told you I'd keep your secrets and I will. I guess I need to know what they are, though. Am I one of your secrets? Who knows about you and me? Who can know? And what is this guy to you anyway? Why is he so interested in you?

You told me that you don't know how you'd feel if I had somebody else. I know how I'd feel if you did, Scott. Bad. Real bad. I don't have any claim on you, either. I don't have much to offer you, I know. I don't have any right to tell you not to, but I hate the idea of another man touching you. If that Northstar guy has been fucking you, I really don't know what I'll do to him. When you suck my cock, I want to think that nobody else gets that from you. When I fuck you I want to know that that's only for me. Those beautiful hands, that long hard dick, your strong arms and legs, your hot ass - I want to feel like it all belongs to me. Just me. Selfish of me, I know. I have no right to ask you, but I am.

Logan

P.S. I told 'Ro I'd try her herbal shit. She was beside herself with joy and has been mixing unholy concoctions all morning. This is your fault.

 

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From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Sex - phone and real (among other things)

You did fine entering my address, Logan. Maybe you'll even graduate to subject lines sometime soon. In the meantime, I've provided one.

I'm glad the friendly voice helped. And the phone sex. Call me any time you need me, Logan. I mean it. I always want to talk to you.

You said that you don't have much of an imagination. That's probably okay. I think I have enough for the both of us. And, no, I have no sex-related mutant powers - you're thinking of Remy. Don't feel bad; people mix us up all the time. Must be the red eyes. Anyway, I have an easy way for you to tell us apart - I'm the guy you're fucking. Oh, and speaking of fucking, I'm glad that's what you wanted last night. I haven't quite figured out how to maintain the verisimilitude while talking my way through a blow job on the phone. I'll ponder this and get back to you.

I'm glad things look like they're going to work out with Alpha Flight. Charles told me he has been talking to the Hudsons (Jean-Paul's bosses). They have as much need for a remote center as we do, it seems. So, it looks like it is going to be a full-fledged joint project between us and them. I'm supposed to be going to Montreal next week to talk details. I guess that's the meeting you said they'd set up - I must be the designated X-Men leader. Will you be there, too? Or are you meeting with them separately? I hope the former - I need your knowledge of the sites for the negotiations. And it would just be so good to see you again.

Jean-Paul isn't anything to me, Logan. Just a guy I worked with on a couple of joint missions a few years back. I hadn't been with a man for a lot of years before you. There was never anything between me and Northstar. And you don't have to worry about me looking for some other guy. I haven't been able to take a breather from wanting you so much. It doesn't exactly leave room for me to think of another man touching me. It's you I keep thinking about. Pretty much all the time.

I want to suck you until I taste your hot cum, feel your hands on my cheeks and in my hair, hear you tell me that you like it. I want you to push your dick into my ass, again and again, long and slow, telling me you love to ride me like that. And then I want to feel how it changes, when the urgency takes over and you just can't go slow any more, when you can't help pushing hard and fast until you come deep inside me. I want to feel you lose control, to lose your mind with fucking me, to stop thinking about the claws and just let them come out like you did that time in my office. I want your hands on my dick, your mouth on my dick, your fingers in my ass. There have been a lot of men, Logan, but there's only one you.

But, Logan, I'm not making promises that I'll be yours alone, because I'm not. I love you, Logan. Truly I do. And I know you don't particularly want to hear that but I've laid off it for a while, giving you plenty of time to come up with those snappy comebacks we talked about. So, anyway, I love you. I've never felt about anyone like I feel about you. But it's no picnic being in love with a homicidal, suicidal mutant, you know. And unrequited at that. I wish you loved me back. I wish it so much. But I understand your limitations and I'm willing to take whatever you've got to give. And you have given me so much: the best sex I ever had; protection and friendship and caring; a model of courage and perseverance I only wish I could live up to. You've enriched my life.

"For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings that then I scorn to change my state with Kings"

That is how I feel, most of the time. But then sometimes I think that love remembered isn't good enough. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be with someone where I felt more like we had a future together.

Oh, and I do wish you would get over this habit you have of threatening to kill men who've had me. Or even, like Jean-Paul, men you imagine to have had me. It's really not a good idea. First of all, even if you just limited yourself to the real ones, there are too many of them if you want to have any time left to do anything else with your life. And, although I do understand that you mean this as a gesture of friendship and caring, it's not really one that speaks to me. All things being equal, I think I'd rather you sent me a card.

And, Logan, I hope I've been clear about this - Jean and I haven't totally broken up. We haven't been having sex lately, but that's her choice, not mine. Last time I asked she told me to come back when I've figured out what I want. I haven't figured that out. I haven't given up my dream of Jean and me - marriage and kids and love and respectability. Sometimes I'm really feeling disgraced in Fortune and men's eyes - wanting to just be a normal person and fit in in the world. But I think about you all the time.

I don't know what to do with those conflicting feelings. I want a woman presiding over my dinner table and a man in my bed. Fucked up, huh? But, anyway, you're the man I want in my bed, not Jean-Paul.

You asked who knows about us. I don't know, really. I haven't told anyone but Jean. Charles and I have discussed my relationship with you but I didn't tell him about it - he already knew. I didn't ask Jean to keep it a secret; I don't think it's a fair thing to ask. She needs to decide for herself what she wants to say about what's going on with her and me. So, she may have told some people - I don't know. And of course, anyone walking by my room (or my office) at particular times during your last visit here might have been able to figure out what's going on. I'm not asking you to keep us a secret, Logan. Use your own judgment. I won't say I'm totally comfortable with people knowing, but I'm tired of hiding out. And I'm certainly not going to ask you to lie for me.

Scott

P.S. So, if the herbs work will you tell me I get the credit?

 

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From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Sex - phone and real (among other things)

No, Scott, you haven't been clear that you're still thinking of getting back together with Jean. Or at least I didn't understand that. I know you talked about trying to figure out what's going on with your relationship with her. I thought you were talking about trying to manage being friends and working together now that you aren't lovers any more.

I can't believe you're still going on about this marriage shit. You're thirty years old, Scott - when are you going to stop trying to be a fucking Boy Scout? Whose approval are you looking for? The professor knows about you and he hasn't stopped loving you, has he? You think your team, your students couldn't handle it if they knew you like dick? I think they could. I guess I think better of them than you do.

Or are you looking for approval from society? Well, forget it. You're not going to get it. The world is full of people who hate you and fear you, hate us and fear us. They're not going to suddenly think you're okay if you marry Jean. Maybe you're living in a dream world from being at that school. I know the professor keeps holding onto this pipe dream of peace and safety for our kind, someday. Fine, if it makes you all feel better, but it ain't what the world's like now.

Take a look around you, Scott. You're living in a fucking fortress, for all that you geeks like to pretend it's some sort of prep school. Prep schools don't have Danger Rooms, Cyclops. Or electronically-controlled defenses, or a duty roster to make sure someone's checking five times a day that the perimeter is secure. Prep schools aren't full of hollow-eyed refugees and little kids who scream when anyone but Mommy goes near them and teenagers who've been living on the streets, whoring for food and shelter. Prep schools don't need outposts in fucking Saskatchewan to run off to if they can't handle a sustained siege.

It's society, polite human society, that you're all defending yourselves against, that did that to the mutants you're trying to save. And those are the people - that's the society - you want approval from? Well, you're never going to get it, Scott. And if you were half the man I thought you were, you wouldn't even want it. I was willing to be your dirty little secret - I didn't like it but I was okay with going along with it. But that was because I thought you needed time to get comfortable with the changes in your life. I didn't know you were hiding me so you can be "respectable". Well, I like Jeannie, and for her sake I hope she has the sense to turn you down. Because if she marries you it's not going to be for real. You're going to be sneaking off on her to suck some guy's dick before the honeymoon's over. Damned if it's going to be mine, though. I take back what I said about not wanting some other guy touching you, fucking you. Go ahead, Scott. It doesn't matter - I was thinking what we had was a lot more special than it is.

Just what is your love worth, Scott? You can talk love and recite poetry all you want, but it doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot when you care more about your fucking respectability than you do about me. Fortune and men's eyes be damned. I may not have that much to give you, but I've given you all I've got. I've opened up to you more, told you more, cared about you more than I have for anybody else. Well, anybody else at least since Weapon X got hold of me and turned me into this.

Scott, I'm so pissed at you I don't even know what to do about this. Violence is my usual way of dealing with anger, and I don't want to hurt you. You're the best friend - and the hottest lover - I ever had. And you've done so much for me - got me over the amnesia, helped me with the nightmares. Talked me into this project and it has saved my life, at least for now. So, we're even - okay? You saved my life again. You can walk away from me with a clear conscience. And maybe you'd better do just that because I'm too mad at you right now to be responsible for my actions if you don't.

Logan

P. S. Call me and we can talk about Montreal. Under the circumstances, maybe it's better if 'Ro goes instead of me.

=======================================================================================  
Chapter 5: The Story of the John Who Was Punished

"Logan, it's Scott."

::click::

"Logan, please don't hang up on me this time."

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, you told me to call you. You said you wanted to talk about the Montreal trip."

"I changed my mind." ::click::

"Hi, me again. Please, listen to me. I'll come up with a better reason to stay on the line, okay? It doesn't have to be because you said you wanted to talk to me. Okay, this is progress, you haven't hung up yet. You're not talking to me or anything but you haven't hung up. Logan, I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Scott?"

"Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for disappointing you. Sorry for trying to be a fucking Boy Scout when I'm thirty years old."

"So, you're sorry. You gonna stop trying to be a fucking Boy Scout?"

"I don't know. No, don't. Don't hang up. Please. Logan, come on, can't you be a little bit patient with me?"

"I'm not a patient man."

"Well, you know what? Neither am I. But I've tried to be patient for you. I have been patient with you. You wouldn't even touch me for weeks and I put up with that. Pushed you a little, but put up with it. I put up with you running out on me without even saying goodbye. Twice. I put up with a lot from you."

"You saying I need to put up with a lot from you, too?"

"No, I'm not saying that. You don't need to put up with anything from me. You can be a fucking island again. But if you don't want to be an island, you need to accept that people aren't perfect. You want to have friends, you put up with some stuff from them. You help them get over some stuff. Help me, Logan."

"What kind of help do you want?"

"Well, first of all, can't you tell me if something's bothering you before you're at the point where you're homicidal about it? I mean, come on, Logan. I didn't even know this marriage thing bothered you so much."

"I thought I made that clear in Winnipeg."

"Yeah, well I thought that was mostly because you didn't know or something. The amnesia and all and me not being honest with you. And also, me saying I wouldn't have sex with you any more. Big resolution which lasted all of three hours, I think, and only that long because you walked out. Anyway, I've tried to be honest since. And before, too - maybe I didn't tell you everything, but what I told you was the truth. Hey, you're the one who joked about being my best man."

"You're an English teacher, Scott. You never heard of gallows humor?"

"I've heard of it. Okay, Logan, I understand. It bothers you. And it's not just because you're jealous. I'm getting that. It's because of this whole wanting to be respectable thing, wanting to be accepted. I'm sorry. It's part of me. It's part of who I am. I'm the guy who doesn't dare disturb the universe. I'm trying not to be like that, not to let it rule my life, but I'm not always successful. Can you relate to that at all? Is there nothing in your life that you'd like to get over?

"Okay, I'm taking not answering but not hanging up as an affirmative answer. You're saying you can relate a little. Correct me if I'm wrong. Preferably with words, rather than hanging up. Okay, this is good. You're still on the line. I can sort of hear you breathing.

"Logan, it's a hard thing for me. It's something I need to work on, okay? It's something I am working on. I never questioned conformity before. I never questioned control. I just assumed they were good and right. You're helping me question. Please keep helping me."

"I'll try, okay? It pisses me off no end... But, I do want to help you. You've helped me a lot. I want us to help each other."

"That's good, Logan. See, there's common ground. We both want us to help each other. Look, I really need to talk to you, to see you. Can't you come to Montreal next week? We'd have time to talk. It wouldn't just be meetings."

"I don't know. I don't want to see you when I'm this mad. I'm not safe to be around."

"Well, I want to see you when you're this mad. I want to try to work things out with you. There has been too much running away. I love you, Logan. I'm not scared of you."

"Well, you should be. I'm telling you - I'm not safe."

"Maybe I don't want safe. Maybe I just want you - warts, homicidal tendencies, lack of subject lines and all. I love you, Logan."

"You keep saying that."

"Yeah, I keep saying it because it's true. And you know what? I even think you love me. I think you just don't know it yet or can't say it or something."

"So, now you're a telepath?"

"No, just a perceptive kind of guy who knows you well. You said I know you well. You think I just know how to turn you on? I know more than that, Logan."

"I know you do, Scott."

"Logan, can I tell you a story? And then we could talk some more about this Montreal thing?"

"You trying to get back in my good books with phone sex?"

"No, not that kind of story. A story from when I was a kid, when I was on my own. It's not a happy story, Logan, not like the Scheherazade 37-night one."

"I didn't think that was a happy story."

"Well, it was to me. Happy by my standards at the time. And this one isn't, by anybody's standards. But it's got sex and violence in it. Two of your favorite things, right? Okay, that's good. It's good to hear you laugh. Almost as good as it was to hear you come the other day. I don't want to just hear you come, though. I want to see you come. Want to feel you come, taste you come."

"I thought this wasn't going to be phone sex."

"Yeah, you're right. I got off on a tangent. Will you listen to my story? And then talk to me a little more?"

"Okay."

"Alright. Here goes. As I said, it's from my I Was a Teenage Mutant Prostitute time. We've talked about that a bit, but I think you need a little more background to get this one.

"First, you have to understand, Logan, the worst was having to do it outside. On my knees in some filthy alley for a few bucks or just for a hot meal in a cheap diner. And the best was if they took me home with them - took me back to their apartments, let me stay the night. In between? In a car - better than outside, anyway. Hotel rooms of various descriptions. Usually pretty cheap and awful ones but even the best ones weren't as good as an honest-to-goodness apartment, with a kitchen where I could get something to eat in the middle of the night - I ate whenever I could, Logan. And, I don't know, just knowing that it was somebody's home and I was just in a home, in somewhere where somebody lived, for a few hours. I could pretend that I lived there, pretend I had somewhere to live. So, that was the best kind of john - the ones who took you to their apartments. Does that make sense?"

"It makes sense. I hate it - hate that that was your life - but it makes sense."

"So, there I was on a Saturday night, hanging out, hoping for work for the night and worrying a little that I wouldn't find any - it was kind of a cold night. Then I hear footsteps and this guy comes up to me and I hear a familiar voice greeting me. He wasn't really a regular or anything, but I'd been with him a few times before. He had an apartment near there and he'd taken me back there and let me stay the whole night. I was really excited to hear his voice - it was getting late and I hadn't had any other options yet - but tried not to let it show. Didn't want it interfering with the compensation negotiations. So, we agree on a price and we go back to his place. Only I knew something was wrong as soon as his key turned in the door. Too much noise in what should have been an empty apartment. Well, he's got two friends in there. One of them - it was his birthday - I guess they were having a little party. Turns out I'm supposed to be the entertainment. I was so pissed off."

"I'll bet. I would have killed them."

"Yeah, well that's your answer to most things. Now, Logan, let me make this clear. I wasn't mad at the idea of having to do three men in one night or the idea that the other two were going to watch while I'm sucking each one off or anything. I was mad because we agreed on a price for one and here he was doing a bait-and-switch and expecting me to do three for the same price. But I didn't know if I should let on that I was mad - what if he kicked me out? Where would I be then? But I guess what was left of my dignity wouldn't let me just shut up about it so I start complaining. And he's sounding amused while he argues back with me, tells me it's the same amount of time - what do I care? But then he agrees that they'll each give me $20 - hey I thought that was great, would have settled for less. And they each hand me a bill and I put all three bills in my pants.

"Well, I earned it. They were awful to me - treated me like a thing, like I wasn't human at all. Kept talking about me to each other like I wasn't even there, calling me a 'boy toy'. One of them - the birthday guy - even called me 'it' - 'It has a pretty mouth,' he said. And my semi-regular guy says, 'Wait 'til you see what he can do with it.' Well, at least he said 'he'. Anyway, with three of them it was a long night - they took turns resting. But sometime, real late I think, the other two leave and it's just my semi-regular guy there and he's asleep on the bed. So, I go to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich and there's a washer/dryer closet in the kitchen, too, so I take off all my clothes and wash them. I'm holding my twenty-dollar bills the whole time the clothes are in the washer - didn't want to lose them. And I took a shower and got dressed again and then I fell asleep in a chair, my twenty-dollar bills deep in the pocket of my clean, dry, warm jeans. And then he wakes up and tells me it's time for me to leave, so I do.

"Oh, Scott. I hate them for what they did to you."

"Thanks, Logan. I appreciate that. It's good to have someone to tell it to, someone I trust, someone who can hate them for what they did. But, it gets worse. I went round the corner to get a cup of coffee and a bagel and when I'm paying for it I find out - they cheated me. They were dollar bills. I have three lousy bucks for that whole night. They must have been winking and laughing silently about it the whole time. Great joke - make a sixteen-year-old blind boy do you all night for a dollar a head. I was so mad I could have killed him right then and there."

"What did you do?"

"I went back to his building. It was Sunday morning. You know about the Sunday New York Times, Logan?"

"I know it's a big paper."

"Yeah, and it's kind of a New York ritual - people go out Sunday morning and get the Times and bagels. So, I get to his building and I can hear this woman struggling with the door. She's got her huge Sunday Times and her bagel and a coffee cup and she can't juggle it all and manage the key to the building, too. So, I pretend like I live there and offer to help her. Carry her stuff for her and get in that way. And I go back up to his apartment and just stand there for a while outside the door."

"I would have broken it in."

"Well, you would have been proud of me, then, because I blasted it open. I hadn't used my eyes in months but I used them then. Felt for the lock so I could try to aim well. But, Logan, I had absolutely no control back then - didn't know what I was doing. I was trying to just get the lock, like I did on your room that one time, remember? But I opened my eyes too far. When I was done there was no lock, no doorknob and a hole in the door the size of my fist. Well, anyway, I could go in. So, I did. He was in the bedroom, had gone back to sleep, didn't even know I was there."

"What did you do to him?"

"Beat the shit out of him. Broke his nose at least - I could feel it break. I don't know what else I broke. Just pummeled him, screaming the whole time. He must have been scared out of his mind to wake up to that. He barely fought back - I don't know why. Maybe he didn't know how, maybe he was just too shocked, maybe I was just so crazy he thought it would make it worse. And I'm screaming at him that he cheated me and that I should kill him. 'I should look at you - that's what I should do!' I kept yelling. I'm sure he thought I'd lost my mind. Anyway, I told him I wanted all the money he had in the apartment. He just handed me his wallet and I took the money out of it. And he had pictures in his wallet - of course I have no idea who or what they were, but I tore them to shreds. And took the light bulbs out of all the lamps and smashed them. If I couldn't see why should he? And then I left, with his money in my pocket. It was a pretty good haul, much more than the sixty bucks I was supposed to have gotten, but I still felt like shit. I think that's the last time in my life I was totally out of control."

"But you weren't. You didn't look at him, didn't kill him."

"No, you're right. I had some vestiges of control, but that's pretty much the most out-of-control I've been."

"What did you do then?"

"Went to church. That was a good thing about Sundays - you could find a warm church to sit in and just hang out and be unnoticed for a while. Oh, churches are open during the week but if you're kid - particularly a blind kid - without anyone with you, they start asking questions. Nobody notices on Sunday.

"So, I'm sitting there in church and I hear this voice in my head, telling me to come to Grand Central Station. I swear, Logan, I thought it was the voice of God. Did what it told me - went to the train station, bought a ticket for Salem Center and waited by Platform 17. And then the same voice talks again but it's not in my head - it's right in front of me, but too low for somebody standing in front of me. This wonderful voice. This kind-sounding, understanding-sounding man. And he says, 'Rough night, Scott?' And I didn't know what to say, or what to feel. I started crying - the first time I cried since I'd come into my powers, tears leaking out of my shut eyes, falling down my cheeks, my nose running. I must have looked a mess."

"What did he do?"

"Handed me a handkerchief. Introduced himself. Told me I'd never have to be on my own again, that I'd always have food and a warm bed. I thought he wanted sex - I had no idea what he was going to do for me. I didn't care, though - it was the best offer I'd had in over a year. And then he said, 'I'll teach you, Scott. We'll learn some way to control your powers'. So I realized he knew I was a mutant and I just couldn't believe he was still being nice to me. He must have heard me think that, because he said 'Me, too, Scott. There are lots of us. We'll take care of each other.' I thought it was a dream, Logan. I was so happy to be here, and so scared, too, you know? It just took such a long time before I believed it was going to last. And then I did believe it and I wanted it and I wanted to make a life for myself and for others of our kind. I never, ever wanted to go back to blowing men to survive."

"So, was that night the last time with a man? Until me?"

"No, not by a long shot. I gave up on sex for money, but not on sex. I used to sneak off and pick up some guy whenever I could. Never anyone at school, never anyone I got to know or care about. I thought nobody knew, but Charles knows everything. It went on like that for a few years. I stopped when Jean and I became lovers. Didn't even think about men for years. Well, at least consciously. I think I was probably hot for you from the start, but I didn't know it."

"I'm not like those guys who hurt you, Scott. I haven't always treated you well, I know that. But I'm trying. I care about you. I want to be your friend."

"I know you do, Logan. I'm just so fucked up."

"Yeah, it's a fucked up world and we both have the scars to show for it. We've both been misused, Scott. We've both been out in the cold at night."

"I'm trying to rise above that, really. I need your patience, your tolerance. I do love you. I'm trying to be good and strong and brave for you. Hey, we're supposed to be staying in a safe house in Montreal, some place the Alpha Flight people have there. They asked me what kind of accommodations we'd need. I told them that you and I are together - told them to give us one room. I told them to give us a room with a big bed. And a desk - said we'd need to do some work while we were there. Does that count for something?"

"Yeah, it counts for something."

"So, will you meet me there? I don't think 'Ro's going to be thrilled about sharing a room with me if you send her instead."

"I'll meet you there. We'll see where we go from there... Hey, take care of yourself. Don't get yourself kidnapped or anything before the meeting next week. I'm here in fucking Saskatchewan - I'm not around to save your sorry ass."

"Okay. I'll save my own sorry ass. I'm saving my sorry ass for you, Logan. Or at least trying to. I'm working on this. Is that okay?"

"More than okay, Scott."

"You're sounding like me, Logan."

"Yeah, we must be lovers or something."

"See you next week in Montreal?"

"Yeah. Bye, Scott."

"Bye, Logan."

====================================================================================

Chapter 6: The Demon Lover

The Alpha Flight safe house was in Cote St. Luc, west of Montreal proper. I found it without incident and knocked on the door. A young woman I didn't know answered, introduced herself as Marina, saying "You must be Cyclops," and inviting me inside. She took me into the living room, announced me, and quickly exited.

Heather Hudson was there, as was Jean-Paul. They both got up to greet me, both kissed me and inquired about my trip up there, telling me they were glad I had come. Logan was sitting there, too, but acknowledged my entrance with only a curt, "Hi, Scott". The fourth person sitting in the room was an older man I'd never met who had to be James MacDonald Hudson, Heather's husband and the founder of Alpha Flight. He stood when I entered. I walked over to him and Heather introduced us, using our code names, but when I called him "Guardian" he corrected me, saying, "Please, Scott, just call me 'Mac' when we aren't on a mission." He apologized for not entertaining us at their headquarters in Toronto, explaining that they had other business in Montreal to attend to and empty space in this house. I told him that it was just as easy to get to Montreal and I was happy to have the opportunity to practice my French.

Logan still hadn't said a word beyond his initial greeting but kept shooting me these intense looks. I couldn't tell if he was mad or upset or what, but he sure didn't look happy. The rest of us made small talk for a few minutes and then Heather suggested that Logan show me up to our room, saying that she thought he could fill me in on the discussions they had had so far. He stood up and left the room without so much as a word to anyone. I kind of shrugged at the rest of them, saying "See you later." I picked up my suitcase and followed Logan out of the room and up the stairs. He walked down a long hall and opened the door of the third room on the right. I followed him in and closed it.

He pushed me up against the closed door and kissed me, hard, reaching to stroke my cock through my jeans. It felt great to be with him again but I was worried about him and wanted to know what was going on. He's often pretty quiet, but his behavior downstairs had been downright anti-social. "What's wrong, Logan?" I asked. He just shook his head. "What does that mean?"

"Not now, Scott. We'll talk after," he said and kissed me again. Then he extended one claw and started slicing my shirt off of me, beginning at the left side of the collar and cutting down the sleeve to the wrist. I started to protest - it was a new shirt, plus I hadn't brought that many clothes with me and wasn't sure how long I'd be staying - but he just stuck his tongue in my mouth again, shutting me up. He sliced the other sleeve in the same way, careful not to cut me. Then he turned me around and cut down the middle of the back of the shirt. It fell to the floor and he pushed up against me, kissing the back of my neck. I could feel him hard against me and wondered if he was going to push me against the wall and fuck me standing up like that. But he spun me around again, facing me, and kissed me, running his tongue along the roof of my mouth. He had that feral look about him, and started pushing in hard with his tongue, kissing me so intensely and roughly that I was getting a little bit frightened for him. I was worried that he was moving into sex-to-forget mode, and wondering what had happened to him to get him to that point.

He stopped kissing me on the mouth and started cutting down the side of my pants, ignoring my pleas that he at least let me take off my belt first, the only one I had brought with me. He cut the jeans slowly, cutting through belt and pants and boxers, both sides, moving down my body as he cut, kissing and licking me on the neck, chest and belly. The pants fell away and I was standing there in nothing but my glasses and my boots, with him kneeling in front of me. I was feeling equal parts embarrassed, annoyed, confused, and hot.

He started sucking me and the embarrassed, annoyed, and confused parts of my brain just disappeared. He held my ass with both hands, pushing me deep into his mouth and down his throat, again and again, using his tongue on the underside of my dick in this wonderful way that sent shivers down my spine. He'd pull back and lick the head, then push me in again. Spread my cheeks and stuck a finger inside, finding a good spot, making me thrust into his mouth repeatedly. I found myself wondering if he had kept his word that he would tell me if he had had somebody else. This didn't feel like anyone's second attempt at giving a blow job.

Well, I was enjoying it too much to worry about that. Started feeling really weak in the knees, though, almost collapsing on him. I tried to tell him I thought we should change positions, didn't think I could keep standing, but nothing came out of my mouth but his name and some incoherent noises. He realized my problem, though, and held me up, with his hands and with his body pressed against my legs. I had my hands in his hair, twisting and pulling a little, feeling myself riding the crest of that wave, finally coming in his mouth and then just standing there, bent over him a little, trying to catch my breath. Then I knelt down in front of him and we kissed again.

I started unbuttoning his shirt and helped him take it off. "See, Logan," I said, "It's possible to undress people without ripping their clothes to shreds." He didn't smile, didn't say anything. He let me take the rest of his clothes off.

Then he stood up and took me by the hand, leading me over to the bed. He told me to kneel next to the bed, leaning over it. So I did. There was a small bottle of some kind of oil or something on the night stand and he went over and got it and poured some on his hands. Then he started spreading it on my thighs and ass. It smelled like almonds and felt warm and kind of tingly. He coated a couple of fingers with it, too, and pushed one inside me, then the other. Then he took his fingers out, spread my legs a little, knelt between them and pushed his cock into me. He pushed in slowly, a bit at a time, until he was all the way in, his balls touching me. His upper body was pressed against me and he just stayed still, deep inside me, kind of nuzzling the back of my neck but not moving yet. He hadn't said a word all this time. Finally he spoke.

"Can I start now, Scott?" he said. "You ready? I wanted to give you a chance to just feel me, like you said on the phone." It felt good to think of him listening, thinking about what I said, wanting to reenact that scene in some respects. I told him I was ready and he started moving in and out, with long strokes. "I love riding you," he said. "You're my steed, my stallion." He was pushing harder and faster now and I was pushing back to meet him. The bed was against a wall, which was a good thing because it would have been traveling with his powerful strokes if it hadn't been. As it was, it was making a thwack-thwack noise against the wall every time he thrusted in. We were both sweating now and that seemed to activate something in the oil he had put on me - the almond smell was much stronger. He was whispering in my ear while he fucked me, saying all sorts of things. Good things, hot things, loving things. He had his hands on my sides, moving up and down and then settling on my hips as he fucked me harder and harder, the bed bumping against the wall with his movement. And then there was one final thrust, so hard it hurt, and he just kind of froze in place, jammed all the way into my ass, pumping that cum into me. Then he just stayed there for a minute on top of me, his head turned to the side, cheek on my back. "That was good, Scott," he said. "Thanks. I feel better."

He pulled out and got on the bed. I took off my boots and lay down next to him. I put my arms around him and pulled him to me. Everything seemed fine for a minute, and then he started shaking, his whole body trembling. I'd only seen him like this when he had just woken up from a nightmare.

"Logan, what's wrong?" He didn't answer. I was getting really scared, but didn't want to let it show. I figured I'd try another tack. "What can I do for you?"

That, at least, got a response. "Can you rub my back, Scott?" he asked, still shaking. "Put some of that stuff on me," he said, gesturing towards the bottle of oil. He turned on his belly and I put some of the oil on my hands and started massaging his back and shoulders. The shaking subsided and some of the tension seemed to leave his body, too. "Say something," he said. "A story or a poem. Something far away and not about us or anything we know."

The first thing I could think of that met those criteria was "Kubla Khan", so I recited Coleridge's fantasy to him. It seemed to help; I could feel his body under me, relaxing some more with the words and the massage. "I like that," he said when I was done. "I like the part about the river - say that again."

"You mean -  
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran  
through caverns measureless to man  
Down to a sunless sea.'  
That part? Yeah, it's a nice image, isn't it?"

"So, what does it all mean? What's it supposed to be about?"

"It was a drug-induced hallucination, I think. I don't usually mention that part to the students, though. I just say that he had a vivid imagination."

"Like you?" he asked. I was relieved to hear him teasing me a little, sounding relaxed and happy. "Would you put some on my legs, too, now?"

I did, rubbed it into his legs and his ass. It was a tiny bottle and I had just about emptied it by this time. "You're almost out," I told him. "What is it, anyway?"

"I don't know. Something 'Ro gave me. She said it's good for tension. I thought it might work for sex, too. Did it feel good on you?"

"Yeah. It felt good on me. You felt good on me. And in me. You okay now?"

"Fine."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He turned over on his back. His eyes were wide open but he seemed not to see me. "That guy - he gave me a big hug," he said.

"Jean-Paul? He's like that with everybody. The Quebecois are a little more demonstrative than your average North American males."

"Not Jean-Paul. The other one. Hudson. He knew me."

"Knew you? You'd met him before?"

"Apparently. I didn't know him. I reached out my hand to shake - see, I've learned something since I met you - and he put his arms around me, like a big bear hug. Said he was so glad to see me again. I told him I didn't think I knew him."

"What did he say to that?"

"He apologized, said that I looked exactly the same so he had forgotten how much he had changed in the last thirty years. And then he said 'It's me - Mac. It's so great to see you, Logan. Guardian and Wolverine, together again.' I didn't know what to say."

"You don't have any memory of him? None at all?"

"None. Thirty years ago would put it somewhere in the middle of my lost years. I have fragmented memories from the Weapon X times, some from a few years after that, but then nothing until waking up in the woods something like fifteen years ago."

"So, Logan, this is a good thing, isn't it? If Mac knew you, maybe he can help you fit together some of the missing time."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I was getting kind of excited. I came here for the project, and for you, but I was thinking I could get something out of it for me, for finding out about myself. But then he says to me, 'I heard you went independent. Not me, I'm afraid. Still a cog in the government machinery.' Scott, he's an assassin. What are you guys doing mixed up with somebody like that?"

"Oh, I really don't think so," I said, sounding as skeptical as I felt. "I've worked with Alpha Flight people before. They're like us - the good guys."

"He said we worked together - he's in the government. We know what I did for the government."

"That was a long time ago. Logan, I know Alpha Flight. They do the same kinds of missions we do: anti-terrorist operations, mutant rescue, saving the Earth from being taken over by hostile alien races. You know, the usual stuff."

"But they're part of the government?" he asked, gripping my arm so tightly that I knew I'd have a bruise there afterwards. "Why didn't you tell me? You know how I feel about my government service," spitting out the last two words like a curse.

"I don't know, I guess I should have. I'm sorry. I never thought about it, I guess. If I thought anything about the government aspect it was just that it must be nice to live somewhere where the government recognizes mutant contributions and talent, was willing to hire mutants for this kind of work. Although I like our independence, too."

He had a wild look in his eyes that was scaring me. And his gaze was furtive, darting back and forth around the room. "Maybe this is all a trap - maybe they don't want a joint project. Maybe they don't plan on having anything to do with it. They just wanted to lure me here so they could take me back to Churchill, back to Weapon X, back to the knives and the needles and the cold and the wolves and, and, and...."

His voice trailed off. He was shaking again and he had this strange, faraway look in his eyes. I put my arms around him again and tried to calm him down. "Logan, there's no more Weapon X. You went back to Churchill. Remember? It's all gone. There's a spaceport there, a shipping port, polar bears, a town. No Weapon X. All those people are dead."

"Dead? Dead?" His teeth were chattering now. "Am I dead? No, I'm not dead." This last sentence was said slowly, with a kind of bemused wonder. And then he looked me in the face, that wild look still in his eyes. "How come I'm not dead, Scott?"

"It's something special about you, Logan. It's part of the healing factor. You live a long, long time. Longer than anyone. We don't know how long." I was still holding him and the shaking was starting to subside, so I kept talking, kept holding him. "Weapon X is over. You saw that for yourself. They're dead, Logan. You're still here. They're all dead."

"Not him. Not Hudson."

"He's not one of them, Logan. He couldn't be. Think about it. How old do you think he is? Mid-fifties? Weapon X was over fifty years ago, wasn't it?"

He nodded, slowly. I felt encouraged and went on. "It's a good thing you met him here. Maybe he has information. He's a good guy - Charles thinks so. You know Charles would know if he were an assassin. It's not a trap, Logan. You're safe, safe with me."

His body was relaxing now. The shaking seemed to be completely over. He lay back on the bed, eyes closed. "I'm so tired, Scott. I don't know what to do."

"There's always sleep. I've found that works well when I'm tired." He chuckled a little and sounded like himself again. "Are you okay now?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about the panic. You're right - he couldn't be one of them. I was too upset to put it together, to figure out the timing. Thanks, Scott. You're good to me."

"What are friends for?" He smiled at that, eyes still closed. "Hey, Logan. You're good to me, too. Real good." The smile got bigger.

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"About that blow job. Who've you been practicing on?"

"Does that mean you liked it?"

"Oh, yes." I waited a minute for him to answer my question but he didn't say anything more. I was about to ask him again when I realized he was sound asleep, grinning from ear to ear.

============================================================================================

Chapter 7: The Story of the Borrowed Belt

I just sat there on the bed for a few minutes, watching him. He seemed to be sleeping soundly. After a while I saw the rapid eye movements indicating he was dreaming, but he still seemed quite peaceful, with none of the thrashing and moaning that characterized his nightmare state. His claws were completely retracted, which was also a good sign. I went into the bathroom to shower, and stopped to look at the row of small bottles on the counter by the sink. They seemed to all be different - some were pills (but looking irregular and handmade, not like something from a pharmacy), some leaves. Each had instructions for use in 'Ro's neat handwriting. So, he seemed to be taking her herbal remedies seriously. I hoped they were working for him.

I showered and got fresh clothes out of my suitcase - everything but a belt. "Damn you, Logan," I said, but softly, not wanting to wake him. I spied his pants still on the floor, still with the belt in them. Well, maybe he had another one with him, I thought as I took it out and put it through my own belt loops. And if he didn't, maybe he'd think twice next time.

I walked out of the room and went back downstairs, in search of someone I knew. I ran into Heather in the kitchen. "Are you hungry, Scott?" she asked, chopping onions. "We're not eating for another hour or so, but you could have some cheese and crackers if you like." She gestured to a platter set out on the counter nearby.

"No thanks, not right now. But what I would like is a phone. Is there somewhere I can make a private call? Logan's asleep in our room and I don't want to wake him."

"You can use the study. It's right off the living room and it should be free. Paper and pencils in the desk if you want to make notes." I thanked her and was about to leave, but she said, "Scott. Is Logan okay? He has been acting kind of strangely."

"He's fine. I think he hasn't slept much lately. He's napping now. I bet he'll be more himself later." I finished lying to her and scurried off to the study to call Charles.

Charles listened carefully while I explained what I had observed with Logan. I gave him all the details of the panicky talk about Weapon X and conspiracy and how he thought that Mac was an assassin. Told him about the trembling and the wild, furtive looks and Logan asking why he wasn't dead. I left out all the stuff about the way he seemed to be using sex as an escape. He asked a few clarifying questions but basically just let me talk. "So, I don't know what to do," I finished by saying. "Heather has already asked me what's wrong with him. I don't know what to say to these people. I barely know them and don't really want to tell them that I think Logan's grip on reality is even more tenuous than usual. On the other hand, it certainly seems like they have information that could help him, or at least Mac does. And without disclosing the fact that he doesn't remember Mac at all, I don't see how I can elicit that info. So, what do you think? You know them better. Are they trustworthy? Should I tell them what Logan told me?"

"What I think, Scott, is that it's not your decision to make. Logan has to decide what he wants them to know. He has to determine whether he can trust Mac enough to ask him what their contact had been in the past. You can't protect him from this - it's not a kindness to him. If you're his friend then your proper role is to discuss it with him, offer your advice, but support him in his decision.

"I'm very interested to hear that Mac knew Logan. I think that's a good development all around. And you can certainly tell Logan for me that I have always found both Mac and Heather to be reliable, kind and compassionate allies - and fierce fighters for the rights of mutants. I totally understand Logan's mistrust of anyone associated with the government - Canadian or U.S. But I think that things have changed a lot since the time of Weapon X and the Cold War. Government now in both countries is much more open and accountable. And even at that time I just can't believe that the people who tortured Logan were anything but a renegade department that would have appalled most government officials, had they known about it."

I argued with him a little, but I had to admit that what he said made sense. I would be doing Logan no favor if I talked to Mac and Heather behind his back. I agreed with Charles that it was a good development, that Logan should find out what Mac knew and see if that helped him. But I also agreed that Logan had to be the one to decide, that the best I could do would be to offer my advice. And, if he did talk to them, to offer to try to help him make sense of what he found out.

I went back up to our room, entering quietly in case he was still sleeping. The room was dark so I figured he hadn't woken yet. I closed the door quietly, but then noticed that he wasn't in bed. He was right behind the door, had been waiting for me.

He pushed me against the wall, pinning me with one arm across the chest, starting to unbuckle my belt. He was still naked and I thought he wanted to pick up where we had left off earlier. It was an appealing idea, but I thought it was important that we discuss what approach he wanted to take with the Hudsons before we went downstairs for dinner. "Not now, Logan," I said. "We need to talk." But his intentions weren't amorous.

He pulled the belt off me, and kind of brandished it in front of my face. "Don't take my things without asking me," he said, fiercely, pushing his arm into me hard.

"Logan, you're hurting me, let go." He didn't, just held me there, glaring at me. "Are you really mad about this? I can't believe it. You took my goddamn motorcycle - all I took was a belt. And after you sliced mine up. Don't tell me you really care that I wore your belt."

He didn't answer. Shifted position a little, so he was still holding me against the wall but using his torso and shoulder to pin me, freeing both of his hands. He took both of my hands in one of his and, with the other, started to use the belt to bind my wrists together. "Don't do this, Logan," I said, half-way between pleading and threatening. He didn't answer, pulled it tighter, turned me around so I was facing the wall, my hands tied together with the belt. His one hand was on the belt, holding my hands immobile. I heard the claws on the other extend as he used his body to push me up against the wall.

"Don't do this, Logan," I said to him again, quietly but urgently. "You'll regret it if you do."

"You threatening me, Cyclops?" he snarled. "I don't let people threaten me. And I don't let them take my property."

"No, I'm not threatening you. I'm telling you you're threatening me. You're threatening us. This is not a game, Logan. I am not consenting to this. If you don't stop, I don't know that it's something we can recover from. Think about what you're doing."

Nothing happened for what seemed like eons but was probably only a minute or two, my hands bound and his body pressed against me. I could feel the points of his claws on my back, just below the waist. He could have used them with one motion to slice my clothes off or with another to run me through. I was terrified, feeling like he might do either, like he was too far gone for me to reach him.

But he wasn't. I heard the sound of the claws retracting first. It took another few seconds before the pressure on my back went away, as if they had left an impression there that needed time to recede. Then he backed off a bit, letting go of the belt holding my wrists as he did. I took my hands out of the belt, letting it drop to the floor, turning around to face him, moving close. He stood there, hands by his sides, not making a sound, tears streaming down his cheeks. I just looked at him, all of my fear dissolved from seeing him like that. I didn't know what he wanted from me, didn't know if I should touch him or not, say anything or not. We just stood there silently facing each other for a minute or two, and then he spoke. "I'm sorry, Scott," he said, so softly I could barely hear him although I was inches away. The line "Soft as a man with a dead child speaks" came into my head, along with the part that follows it, "Hard as a man in handcuffs, Held where he cannot move." I wasn't even sure who had just been held so hard: Logan or me.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, interrupting my reverie. Not touching me, not looking at me, his eyes on the floor. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

I put my arms around him, kissed his tear-stained cheeks. "It's okay, Logan," I whispered in his ear. "You stopped. That's what matters. You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay."

He just stood there, impassive. I went over to the bed and picked up the nearly empty bottle of almond-scented oil. I brought it back to him, still standing by the wall, and put it in his hand, closing his fingers around it. "There's enough left for once more, Logan. Put it on me," I told him.

He was still crying, and stood there, shaking his head. "No, I can't."

"Sure you can. I want you to. I want you inside me, Logan. Here and now. We need this, Logan. We can't leave what just happened as the last time you touched me. Not even for a little while." He just stood there with the bottle in his hand, so I took it back and pulled out the stopper. Poured a little on my hands and started spreading it on his cock. He was still crying, but getting hard just the same. His hands were clenched tight by his sides. I lifted his right hand, opened it, and turned the bottle upside down on his palm, letting what was left of the almond stuff flow onto his hand. Then I turned to face the wall again, putting my hands up against it, standing like someone who had just been arrested and was about to be frisked.

He waited a minute but then came up behind me, leaning against me, kissing the back of my neck. He reached around with his left hand and undid my fly, letting my pants fall to the floor. "Are you sure, Scott?" he said in my ear. I nodded.

He extended a claw and cut my boxers off of me. I wasn't thrilled about that. I'd really prefer that he not slice up any of my clothes. On the other hand, it wasn't so bad - I had more underwear than pants. And he seemed so fragile right then I didn't want to criticize. He slipped a couple of fingers inside my ass and started moving them around, opening me up, stroking inside me in a way that made me squirm. Then he took them out and put his cock right at the opening, just putting the head in a little way. "Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Oh, yes." I pushed back to meet him and he pushed inside.

He started fucking me then, slowly, gently, reaching around to stroke my cock while he did. I told him I wanted it harder and he started pushing it into me harder and faster, one arm round my chest and the other hand on my dick, doing what I told him to, pumping in and out. "I'm sorry, Scott," he kept saying. "I don't want to hurt you. I love you."

His movements were fast and furious and he came quickly. Stayed inside me, though, the whole length of him pressed against me. Then he rubbed and tugged at me until I came, all the while kissing my neck, my ear, and my cheek, telling me again and again how much he loved me.

=====================================================================================

Chapter 8: The Story of the Guardian and the Wolverine

After Scott came, Logan pulled out of him and spun him around so they were facing each other. Scott put his arms around Logan and they clung to each other for a moment. "I'm sorry," Logan said again. "I don't know what happened to me."

"Me, neither. I was really scared, Logan. I wasn't sure you could even hear me."

"I almost couldn't. It was like you were so far away, like I was seeing and hearing you through this long tunnel of rage. Like I didn't even know it was you at first." He held Scott at arm's length for a minute, looking at him. "I don't get it. And I even like it when you wear my stuff - you give my things back and they still have your scent on them."

There was a knock on the door and Jean-Paul announced that dinner would be served in a few minutes. "We'll be right down," Scott called through the closed door, pulling up his pants.

Logan went over and picked the belt up off the floor, bringing it over to Scott, threading it through the belt loops in Scott's pants, kissing him again while he did. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I feel like a jerk, just saying that again and again, but I don't know what else to say."

"We'll talk more later. I'll go downstairs now, okay? I'll tell them you'll be down shortly."

Discussion over dinner was mostly about the new center. Logan had strong feelings that one of the two sites under consideration would be easier to defend and he made a pitch for choosing that one. He seemed back to normal, but Scott was still worried and confused. He found himself wishing that he could talk with Logan through a telepathic link like he did with Jean, so that he could know if he was really okay without cluing the rest of the group into the fact that there had been any problem. It struck Scott that what he was really wishing for was the degree of closeness with Logan that he had had with Jean. He filed that idea away for another time; he would mull over the implications, when he had a chance.

Logan was saying more about how to develop his preferred site in a way that would keep it inconspicuous. "Most of the building and expansion should be done underground," he was saying. "You don't want anyone going by there to know how big an operation you have."

"That's what you've done at Xavier's, isn't it?" Heather asked Scott. "Expanded underground?"

"No, not really, but I think Logan's right and we probably should have. We do have the Danger Room and a lot of our other, secured areas, underground. But we've expanded on the surface, too. And I don't think we have done a really good job of being inconspicuous. For all that we have this veneer of being some sort of prep school," he said, with a significant glance towards Logan, "I doubt that we are fooling much of anyone. I'm sure there isn't anyone in Salem Center - the town we're closest to - that doesn't know the Xavier mansion is full of mutants. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if we're listed as a Scenic Mutant Viewing Spot in guides to the area. Certainly, nobody ranging from Magneto to Senator Kelly to evil aliens from other galaxies has ever had trouble finding us."

Mac chuckled a little at that. "Well, if we want to make sure that doesn't happen in Saskatchewan we need to convince this guy to stay with the project," he said, pointing at Logan with his fork. "Did he ever tell you what he did with my hunting lodge in Huntsville, Scott?"

"Logan and I don't talk about his past much," Scott said, thinking that sounded very strange but not knowing what else to say.

Mac didn't seem to notice. "Well, you should see it. It's pretty amazing - a huge, extensive, hi-tech fortress, but it still looks like a remote cabin, with absolutely no clue what's inside and underground. Really, describing it doesn't do it justice. I wouldn't have thought it possible if I hadn't seen it myself."

Conversation continued in that vein throughout dinner. Logan had a number of inventive ideas for ways to get supplies to the site and actually do the construction without calling attention to what was going on there. He stressed the importance of secrecy, even if it had to be at the expense of speed or efficiency in the building and renovations. Scott was impressed - he had no idea Logan knew so much about design or construction. He also felt good just hearing Logan sounding comfortable in this venue and among these people. He hoped Heather's doubts were being assuaged by the tenor of the conversation and noted that Mac's confidence in Logan seemed undiminished.

After dinner was over, Mac suggested that he and Heather meet with Scott and Logan to continue discussions about the next steps needed to go ahead with the Saskatchewan project. Scott said that was fine, but he wanted to speak to Logan for a minute privately. Mac said they'd join them in the study in a few minutes.

"Logan, I think you should tell him the truth," Scott said, as soon as they were in the study with the door closed.

"The truth about what?"

"That you don't remember him, that you have these huge gaps in your memory. You still don't remember him, do you? Or did that stuff about his hunting lodge trigger anything for you?"

"No, not in a memory way, anyway. I mean, when he talked about what was done to the lodge I kept thinking it was the way I would do it, but I don't remember it or anything. I don't even know where Huntsville is."

"But it seemed genuine, don't you think? Like you say, it's how you would have done it. It's how you did do it - you just can't remember. Charles says that he's always found the Hudsons to be reliable and trustworthy. 'Fierce fighters for the rights of mutants,' he said. It's clear Mac trusts you, Logan. I think you should trust him, too. Tell him the truth - find out what happened between you and him thirty years ago. Maybe it will help."

Logan didn't answer for a long time. "You'll stay with me while I talk to him?" he said, finally. Scott nodded, wondering what it had cost him to show that degree of vulnerability.

Mac and Heather came into the study shortly thereafter and they all sat down. Mac started right in on the issue of next steps in the project, but Logan stopped him. "I need you to tell me something first," he said. "I need you to tell me about when you and me were working together, about whatever contact you had with me, whatever you know about me."

Mac looked at Logan quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Logan took a deep breath. "I don't know you. As far as I'm concerned, I never saw you before yesterday when I got here." Mac and Heather both looked astonished. "I'm not going into details - at least not now - but I have a lot of years missing from my memory. There's a lot I don't know about myself. I'm trying to find out. Some of what I'm finding out is pretty bad, but I'm still thinking I'm better off knowing."

"You don't remember working together? Don't even remember coming to my cabin?" Mac asked. Logan shook his head. "Well, I'm shocked. I had no idea. I mean, I noticed a certain reserve in your manner, but I just figured it's been a long time."

"Will you help me?" Logan asked, looking straight into Mac's eyes, gripping Scott's arm tightly.

"Of course I will," Mac replied immediately. "What do you want me to tell you? I don't even know where to begin."

"Begin at the beginning," Logan said. "When did you first see me? Where was it? What happened?"

"Oh, it was awful," Mac said. "You really don't remember? I was at the lodge near Huntsville. I'd just had a big fight with my father, over my career plans, and figured it was a good idea to put some miles between us until we could both cool off. So, I was up there in the woods. And I thought I heard a knock at the door - couldn't believe it - I was all by myself, nobody knew I was there. So, I go open the door and at first I thought I must have imagined the knock because nobody was standing there, but then I look down and there's this man collapsed on the doorway, bleeding all over, it seemed. I had no idea where you'd come from or how you'd gotten hurt. I thought maybe you had been attacked by a bear. I dragged you in and closed the door. I tried to talk to you - asked what happened, asked what I could do. No response. Then I said I was going to call a doctor for you. That was the first time you spoke. God, Logan, I can hear it to this day. 'No doctors' in a voice that sounded like nothing I'd ever heard. And then you extended your claws. I had never been so frightened before in my life!"

"Was I threatening you with them?" Logan asked.

"No, not at all, but I didn't know that. Plus, I'd just never seen anything like it. Here I am all alone with this bleeding wild man and suddenly he's got huge knives or something coming out of his hands! And I was totally unprepared for what you did with them."

Mac paused, eyes closed, clearly lost in the memory. "You turned them around, pointing towards your own chest and then drove them in with such force that I don't even know how to describe it. There was a sound like a wounded beast coming from your throat. I thought you were killing yourself - if I thought anything. I don't know that I was really capable of coherent thought right then. And then you pulled this thing out of your chest and held it out to me, retracting the claws. 'Take this', you said. I felt transported, felt like I was in the middle of a fairy tale or something. I thought you were handing me your heart."

He said nothing, seeming overcome for a moment. Then he opened his eyes and looked right at Scott. "Heather has heard this story a million times but I still don't even know how to explain it. Maybe you'll understand, Scott, since you know Logan well. There was something about him, even then, that made you just want to do what he told you to." Scott felt his face redden.

Mac continued. "So, I reached out and you handed it to me and I realized that it was some sort of metal box in there, just covered with blood and gore so I hadn't seen it. I stood there holding it on my palm, my hand stretched out in front of you. You were still on the floor. I thought you were dying - I didn't think anyone could survive that kind of injury. But you spoke again. You said, 'Take it. Leave it somewhere away from here. Where it can't be found. Then come back.' I didn't ask any questions - I had plenty of them but the urgency of the command didn't leave room for questioning. I walked out the door with that blood-covered box."

"Where did you take it?" Scott asked.

"Algonquin Park. I threw it into Whitefish Lake. I made sure no one saw me with it. It wasn't hard - it was the off-season and the middle of the night. There weren't a lot of people around. I still had no idea what it was or why I was doing this. And I was sure that I'd be coming back to a dead man, that I had fulfilled his last wish. But when I finally got back to the cabin instead of finding Logan dead on the floor, he was up and pacing back and forth, waiting for me. That was my introduction to the healing factor."

"So what was the metal box?" Scott asked.

"The transmitter," Logan answered, surprising Scott. "It's how they knew where I was, how they controlled me." He looked at Mac. "You hid me from them, didn't you?"

Mac nodded. "Do you remember now?"

"No. Yes. Just bits and pieces. I remember you coming in the door. You were young, practically a kid. You looked scared out of your mind. But you came back. You stayed with me. Took care of me. Something bad happened, but you stayed with me. What happened?"

"You got sick," Mac replied. Logan started to protest, but Hudson raised his hand. "Yes, I know, you don't get sick. I know it now - I know all about the healing factor. And I had seen it in action then, had seen all your wounds just close up. But, just the same, you got sick. So sick. Fever like I'd never seen before, hallucinations and incoherent speech. You couldn't eat anything. I kept giving you water and broth, so you wouldn't get dehydrated. It was scary, though, caring for you. Sometimes you knew me, sometimes not. Sometimes you thought you were being attacked. I was afraid that you'd mistake me for the people you'd escaped from, the ones who put that transmitter in you. I was scared of you a lot of that time, Logan."

"But you never left me," Logan said, in a voice full of wonder.

"I couldn't."

"What had happened? Why was I sick? How did I get better?"

"That's what I wanted to know. And, bit by bit, you did get better and you could tell me a little bit. You didn't know either, really, but we pieced it together. They had been giving you some sort of injections regularly. We never found out what the substance was, but you had overheard one of them saying that it reacted with the adamantium, producing a chemical that was released in your blood, a chemical that affected your brain. It made you more aggressive, put you into those berserk rages sometimes. It's a wonder they thought they could control you at all, but with extra chemical aggression? I don't get it. But, for whatever reason, they were doing that to you. Was it experimentation? Was it to make you more lethal? You said they sent you to kill sometimes. And I guess they thought since they had the transmitter implanted in you - so near your heart that it couldn't be removed without killing you - they could control you. But it was in one of those rages that you escaped. Killed one of the handlers, smashed the machine that talked to the transmitter, broke through walls and glass, ran off. By the time you got to me they had the machine up and running again, or maybe they had a spare. It was forcing you back; it was all you could do to lie there, to stop yourself from going back to them. And they could have used it to track you, too. Your will was so strong, Logan. I can't imagine what it took to stop that machine from making you go back. It's beyond my conception to understand how you could have stabbed yourself like that to remove the box."

"I needed it out of me. I didn't care if I died. It had to go."

"Yes, I know. And it went. And you didn't die. You never quit. And then the chemical went, too. But with such pain, such misery, I could barely stand to watch you. Like the poem says: 'It's dead easy to die, it's the keeping-on-living that's hard.' Keeping on living was sure as hell hard for you, Logan. That stuff was addictive. You were totally hooked on it. That's what was making you so sick - the withdrawal. It was close to two weeks before it was totally out of your system and you were back to normal. It was a hellish two weeks - the hallucinations, the screaming. You'd beg for an injection and then tell me never ever to give you one, within minutes. I wasn't in a quandary or anything. I couldn't give you the stuff if I'd wanted to - I didn't even know what it was. But it was awful to watch you go through that. And the smell! The stuff was just leaking out of your pores and it had this overpowering smell. I can't stand that smell to this day."

"I first heard about it when we were dating," Heather said. "The first time I cooked dinner for him I made this very elaborate dessert. Lots of Amaretto in it - I thought it was so sophisticated. And then he just turned positively green when I brought it out and said he couldn't bear the smell and to take it away."

"Yeah," said Mac. "That's what it was like. That stuff, whatever it was, that they were shooting you up with - it smelled just like almonds."

======================================================================================

Chapter 9: The Story of the Men That Don't Fit In

Logan and I just looked at each other for a minute, and then he said he had something to do and left quickly. I didn't know whether to continue the meeting or follow him. Mac was looking a little dumbfounded at Logan's rapid exit so I figured I should stay and reassure him a bit. "This is a big help to him," I said, "Really it is. But I think it's a little hard to process all at once like this."

Heather and Mac both said that they understood. "Who were the people who were holding him captive, Scott?" Mac asked.

"He never said?"

"No. And he never said where he'd been held, either. Sometimes I thought he really didn't know and sometimes I thought he was trying to protect me, that it would be too dangerous for me to know. Do you know who they were?"

"No, I don't. Or, at least, I don't think I do. I have some knowledge about the people who originally put the adamantium in him, but I don't think they would have been the same ones. There was a lot of time in between, I think. When was this, Mac? Thirty years ago, did you say?"

"No, more like thirty-five. I probably said I hadn't seen Logan for thirty years. We worked together for five years straight, founded Department H and everything. My father lost that battle - I went into government anti-terrorist work, not sitting behind a desk in the family business. And it's really because of Logan that I got the idea of recruiting mutants and starting Alpha Flight, although none of that happened until years after I lost touch with him." Mac stopped for a minute, apparently lost in his memories. "My time with Logan made a huge impression on me," he said, finally. "Do you know Robert Service at all?"

"No, not really. 'The Cremation of Sam McGee'. 'The Call of the Wild.' Maybe a couple of others."

"Well, he has this one poem that reminds me of Logan: 'The Men That Don't Fit In'. You should read it - I'd bet you'd like it. It starts:  
'There's a race of men that don't fit in,  
A race that can't stay still;  
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,  
And they roam the world at will.'  
So, anyway, I knew he'd move on but I always hoped I'd see him again."

I didn't say anything, wondering if Mac was trying to tell me something, trying to warn me about Logan.

"Do you think he'll see this project through to completion?" he asked. "He's perfect for it."

"I hope so," I said, although I was full of mixed feelings about it. I agreed that Logan was the right person for the job; I hadn't realized just how right until I heard his ideas about developing the center at dinner. And he was still so volatile and unpredictable that I thought it a positive thing for him to have a longer term assignment, something to steady him and give him direction. But I hated the idea of him going back to Saskatchewan, so far away from me. He had just told me he loved me, told me for the first time. Was it just to try to make up for what he'd done? Or even an effect of the drug? Would he regret having said it? I felt like, maybe, if we stayed together, our relationship could develop. Maybe he could get comfortable with the idea of love, of being with somebody. Maybe I could get comfortable with the idea of people knowing about us. If we parted again, all of that would be so much harder. Plus, I didn't like the prospect of doing without sex. Again.

We chatted a little longer, but never really started the meeting. Mac suggested we just pick up in the morning with discussion of plans for the center. He said that Jean-Paul had researched the legal implications of different ways to purchase the land and was prepared to make a presentation on that. And that we needed to talk about how managing this as a joint project would work. We agreed to begin those discussions over breakfast.

I went up to our room and found Logan in the shower, scrubbing furiously all over his body. "Can you come in here, Scott?" he asked. "I don't think I'm reaching all of my back."

I took off my clothes quickly and got in with him, soaping and rubbing his back. "This is nice," I told him, kissing the back of his neck, "but it really couldn't still be on your skin. At least I don't think so."

"I just want to be sure."

"I think what we have to worry about more is if it's still in your system, still potentially reacting with the adamantium." I turned off the water and got towels for both of us, handed him one. I picked up my glasses from the counter where I'd left them, put them on and opened my eyes again.

He was looking at me in alarm. "I don't think you should be here with me."

"I don't want to leave you," I said, walking back into the bedroom. "How are you feeling now? Do you think it's affecting you?"

"I don't think so. I'm feeling good. Feeling horny," he added, with a smile.

"I'd really like to suck your dick," I told him. "Can I do that?"

"Best offer I've had all day."

We went over to the bed and he sat down. I knelt in front of him. I panicked a little just before I started, worrying that he would taste like almonds, but he didn't. He tasted like Logan. And it had been so long since I'd had his cock in my mouth, my hands on his thighs. He stroked my hair, told me he loved how I did him, told me that nobody did it like me. I was so hard from the feel of him in my mouth and wanted to stroke myself, get some release. But I kept my hands on him, made myself wait, knowing I wanted his hand on me when I came. And I went slow, making the anticipation into delicious torture. For him, too. Kept him on the edge as long as he could take it and then he asked me - didn't tell me - to bring him off. "Please, Scott," he said, and I squeezed him with my throat, gave him what he needed.

We got into the bed together. "Are you still okay?" I asked. "Not feeling angry or anything?"

"No, not at all," he told me, looking at me with desire. And love, too? Maybe. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Do me with your hands, Logan. Rub my cock against yours." He did and it felt great. Stroked and rubbed us together and then just me by myself, one hand on my dick, one on my ass with a finger deep inside. Talking to me in my ear the whole time. And when he told me to come, I did.

"Did you ever do that with Mac?" I asked him afterwards.

He laughed. "No, of course not." And then looked at me. "Really? You think he was my lover?"

"It had crossed my mind."

"Well, I guess I can't know for sure. I have just flashes of memory of him, but I don't think so. I think I'd remember if it had been like that."

"You didn't remember me, and I like to think I'm pretty memorable." He smiled at that. "It just seemed like he might have been your type back then."

"What's my type?"

"He said he did anything you told him to." He smiled again. "You have had other men, haven't you, Logan?"

"Yeah. Even some I remember. More women, I think, but there were men. But not like you. Nobody I got this close to, men or women."

"So, I guess you're bisexual."

"Nah. Don't give me those labels, Scott. None of that shit means anything to me. It's like saying what team you're on or something. I'm not a joiner. I don't need that to know what I want."

"What do you want?"

"I want you," he said, looking right at me. "But more, too. Something to do, something I'm good at, something that matters. This project has been good for me. I want to stick with it."

"Well, I think it's me or the project but not both, Logan," I said, a little sadly. "The project's in Saskatchewan - excuse me, in fucking Saskatchewan. And I, unfortunately, will be in non-fucking Westchester while you're there."

"Couldn't you come out there with me? Be the on-site X-men rep?"

I shook my head. "We'll probably bring 'Ro home and send you someone else, but not me. I'm needed back home."

"Well, maybe I can visit sometimes, report on progress, fuck you a few times, then go back. And in between times there's email. And phone sex."

"That's not the same. Better than nothing, but not real. I like real."

"Me, too. Turn over, Scott."

He fell asleep right afterwards. It was still early and I wasn't the least bit tired. So I got dressed and went downstairs, figuring I'd see who was around. Jean-Paul was in the living room and I hung out with him, chatting, comparing notes on recent missions, trading gossip about people we'd worked with.

"So, how long have you and Logan been together?" he asked after a while.

I thought about it for a minute. "I don't know when to count from," I answered him, finally.

He laughed at that. "Isn't that always the way with gay couples?" And then, after a pause, "Oh - am I assuming too much? Maybe you don't call yourself gay? I know you were with Jean a long time."

"Well, for a long time I think I was trying to convince myself I'm not gay. But, yes, that's how I see myself now. I think. It's still a little hard to talk about."

"I know the feeling, copain. I did more hinting than talking for a long time. And it wasn't really easy when I did come out to Alpha Flight. Got some pretty negative reactions. But they got used to it, eventually. Heather and Mac were great. I think they just made it clear by example that they were not going to let it be an issue."

"Good for them."

"How has it been with the X-Men?" he asked. "Has your team reacted well to you coming out?"

I didn't quite know what to say. "Well, actually, I think most of them don't know. I don't even know who does know. I didn't really come out to anybody but Jean." He was looking at me with surprise. "I guess that seems strange since Logan and I have been pretty open about our relationship here, but it's different when I'm home. I don't know if it would affect how the team views me. I need them to take orders, often all of our lives depend on it. And it's not just the team, you know. I teach high school classes. I need to set an example for the kids I teach."

"So, what kind of example are you setting by lying to them?" he asked.

"I'm not lying to them, Jean-Paul. I'm just keeping private things private. It's not appropriate to talk about my sex life with my students."

"They knew about Jean, didn't they?" I nodded. "So, why is it talking about your social life if you're straight - or pretending to be - but suddenly it's talking about your sex life if you're gay? This isn't about your sex life, Scott. I don't know anything about your sex life." He had a point. "I'd be glad to hear all about it, if you want to share," he added with a flirtatious smile, "but coming out isn't about talking about your sex life. It's about being honest, about saying who you really are. And all this about setting an example - if I had known in high school that one of my teachers was gay, maybe it wouldn't have taken me another ten years after I left school to come out. Why are the straight kids the only ones who need examples, who need role models?"

I didn't really have an answer to that. I didn't have a chance to try to answer anyway. Logan walked in at that point, scowling at us both.

"I should have known I'd find you two together," he said in a low growl. Then looking right at me, "Sneaking off on me as soon as my back is turned? What? I'm not enough for you?" He approached me, claws extended, face contorted with rage.

I tried not to shake. Spoke to him calmly and clearly although my heart was pounding. "Logan, get a grip. That's not what you really think. You know Jean-Paul and I were just talking. It's the drug, Logan. The almond stuff. It's messing with your mind. See me - see me through the tunnel. Don't hurt me, Logan. You can stop - I know you can. The man who wouldn't let the transmitter control him, who wouldn't let Magneto lock him up in the Statue, can fight this. See me, Logan."

He did. It took a minute, him just standing there like he was frozen, but then the claws retracted and the rage left his face. I stood up and put my arms around him, told him the worst was over. I apologized to Jean-Paul and took Logan back to our room, thinking there would be more to discuss at breakfast than just the next steps in the project.

====================================================================================

Chapter 10: The Story of the Doctor and the Field Leader

Scott was just about half-way through the huge mountain of papers obscuring his inbox when Jean walked in, carrying a tray of food. "Come on, Scott," she said. "Give it a rest. You've got to eat some time."

"Is it lunch time already?"

"Long past. Don't tell me this stuff is so interesting you lost track of time. Hey, move some of those papers and let me put this down." He cleared a space and she placed the tray in front of him.

With the papers out of the way, Jean noticed the gashes in Scott's desk for the first time, running a finger along one of them and raising her eyebrows questioningly. Scott blushed a little but didn't say anything about them. Instead he answered what she had said previously. "No, it's not so interesting. Deadly boring, in fact. But look at this, Jean! I was gone a week - you'd think it had been a month to look at this pile."

"Well, there isn't exactly a law of the universe that says you have to get through it all today, you know. I really don't think the world's going to come to an end if Scott Summers doesn't see the bottom of his inbox on the day he returns from a mission."

"I wouldn't be so sure. That's really the kind of thing you can only know once you get to the bottom of the inbox, don't you think? Here, look at this," he said, pulling a one-page memo out of the bottom of the pile. "It's from an evil alien race intent on destroying the earth."

"And how do you know that?"

"Says so right here. 'To: Field Leader of the X-Men. From: Evil Alien Race Intent on Destroying the Earth.' It says that humanity has made a total mess of this planet and that as a race we have created nothing of value, with the sole exception of the musical 'Cats'. See, they truly are evil."

Jean laughed. "Are you ever going to forgive me for dragging you to that? I thought it was cute."

"I forgive you right now. I even forgive you for thinking that tripe was cute. I forgive you because it says right here that they will blow up the planet next Thursday unless we come up with another musical like that. So, it's you dragging me to 'Cats' that's enabling me to save Terra, Jean. They like musical comedy based on Eliot poems. I think my concept of a musical based on Prufrock is an idea whose time has come. I'll start writing songs - you audition the kids."

"Well, okay, but you're playing the lead, you know. So make sure the songs you write for him only have three notes." Scott mimed being stabbed in the heart. "But Slim, you chose the wrong memo for this. That one's mine - blood drive notice. And you'd better be donating this time - I happen to know your eight weeks are up."

"It's not enough that I risk my life regularly for this organization? You want my blood, too?"

Jean turned serious. "As long as you keep bringing in refugees with major injuries, Scott, I'm going to need blood for them." They both were silent for a minute, thinking about some of the people he'd rescued and she'd patched up. "But you know whose blood I really want? Logan's. I bet the healing factor is at least partly in his blood. I'd like to see if those who get transfusions from him heal more quickly. Can you talk him into donating next time he's here?"

"I don't know. You know he really doesn't like needles." He looked at her. "Okay, I'll try. That's the best I can do. Hey, Jean, how did you know it was your memo, anyway? Were you reading my mind while I held it?"

"No. I could tell just from seeing the paper. I know they all look the same to you, but I printed it out on bright blue paper to make it stand out for most folks. Not everybody goes through their inbox every day - you need something to grab them."

"Blue? Black ink on blue paper?" Jean nodded. "Jean, if you're trying to convince people that giving blood is relatively painless, do you think giving them a black-and-blue notice might subliminally undercut that message a bit?" She laughed again. "Hey, it's good to hear you laugh. It's been a long time."

"It's been a long time since we just hung out and talked. You know, Scott, we've been friends for a lot of years. I don't want to lose that, no matter what happens."

"Me neither. Thanks for coming by."

"So, how did it go in Montreal?"

"Really good, I think," Scott answered, in between bites of his sandwich. "I think we each are bringing something to the project and it will go much better with both organizations involved. And it looks like Logan's going to head up the development of the center. He's got the relevant knowledge and experience and he's sort of neutral - not really on either team but with ties to both. It turns out he has a whole history with Mac Hudson. They worked together for years - a long time ago. I'll give a full report at the meeting, later, but I have a good feeling about this."

"How is Logan?"

"Oh, he's fine."

"That's not what you're broadcasting. You're worried about him, Scott, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't think you'd want to hear about that. I mean, I'm totally out of my depth here, Jean. I don't know what the etiquette of this situation is. Do you talk to your old lover about your concerns about your new lover?"

"I don't know if the etiquette books cover that. And I really don't care. We're going to have to make this up as we go along. Are the nightmares bothering him again?"

"Yeah, they have been, although 'Ro has gotten him to take some herbal remedy of hers that seems to be keeping them at bay for now. He's still really troubled by his memory, with the big holes in it. But the nightmares, the memory stuff - that wasn't the worst of it. He was really in a bad way at the beginning of the week. A little bit delusional. Sort of paranoid. Not really able to look at things rationally. He was better by the end, though. And the Hudsons saw how he was and they seem to think he can handle this project - they're much more objective than I am. But I'm still worried. It was hard to leave him."

"You're really in love with him, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm not sure it's reciprocated and I don't know that there's any future in it, but I'm in love with him. I'm sorry."

"I know. Scott, I think it's time we made the trial separation permanent, don't you? We need to work on being friends and it's hard to work on redefining the relationship when we're in this kind of limbo."

He took her hand. "Yes, you're right. But, please Jean, know that I didn't mean to hurt you. I do love you and I always will. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. It's just a different kind of love than I thought it was."

"I'm sorry, Red. Really."

"I know. Look, we'll work it out. We have with everything else, no?" She smiled at him, a little sadly. "Hey, I need your help with something."

"Sure. What's up?"

"It's about one of the new kids. Oliver - one of the three that John and Bobby picked up in Times Square a couple of weeks back. Charles found them with Cerebro, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember the mission. But which one was he?"

"The really tall one. Good looking. Fifteen but looks much older. Dark hair, longish."

"Yeah, I remember now. What about him?"

"I want you to talk to him. I've tried a little but he doesn't open up to me. I think he'd respond better to a man. And he really looks up to you."

"Looks up to me? I met him once."

"Well, the kids talk about you. You know they do. Bobby and John probably bragged about all the dangerous missions they've been on with you. And Scott, his gift is in his eyes. And he can't really control it yet. So you're kind of a hero to him."

Scott was somewhat taken aback by that. "Really? Optic blasts?"

"No, something else. He can see through things - X-ray vision, we're calling it. But it seems to happen sort of randomly at this point, and his visual cortex hasn't adjusted yet, I guess. He can't make sense of the images - most of the time he can't see effectively at all."

"Is he always going to be like that?"

"No, I don't think so. We've got him on a program now where he is doing exercises with his vision for an hour a day and he keeps his eyes closed the rest of the time. It seems to be helping. I think he'll be able to control it soon."

"Does he find it hard to keep his eyes closed that much?"

"Well, there's something you can ask him. Maybe he'll talk to you about it, since you can give him the 'been there, done that' bit. I think he's okay with it. He has been passing as blind for a while."

"Oh God, that brings back memories. Not good ones. How long was he on his own?"

"Seven months."

Scott counted backwards in his head. "Good. He never dealt with the worst of the winter. What was he living on?"

"Prostitution. And that's part of what I want you to talk to him about." Jean didn't say anything else, but looked straight at Scott.

"Jean," he said. "We never talked about this, but when I was on my own... Well, me too. That's how I managed."

"I know that, Scott."

"How did you know?"

"Oh, come on. Credit me with a little intelligence. We've been taking in kids who have been on the streets for how many years now? It's one of three things - they've either been selling their bodies or drugs or they've been stealing. Don't you think I know you well enough to know that you'd choose the one route where you don't hurt anybody else?"

"Just myself."

"Yeah, I know." She paused, and then began again, a little hesitantly. "Scott, do you think it's because of that time? Do you think that's why you're..." She didn't finish the sentence.

"Gay? You can say it. Hell, even I can say it. Sometimes. And no, it has nothing to do with that. Jean, if experience made for sexual orientation I'd be straight. Most of that was awful - if anything could have turned me off of men that time would have. It has taken me a long time to get to this point, but I'm realizing now that it has nothing to do with what I do or don't do. If I never had sex again for the rest of my life, I'd still be gay. It's not about what I do, it's about who I am." Neither of them said anything more for a couple of minutes. Then Scott said, "So what's the story with this Oliver kid?"

"He keeps getting into fights with the other kids. I'm worried about him - he won't tell me what's going on. And I'm worried about the others, too. He's getting into pretty violent fist fights and I'm worried about the blood exposure."

"Has he had an HIV test? Hepatitis?"

"Yes, and he came out negative, thank God. But it's too soon on the HIV to be sure - he could still be infected, you know. He might not have sero-converted yet. He needs repeat tests after a waiting period. And he's not totally healthy, Scott. He has gonorrhea. Of the throat. It's responding to the antibiotics, which is good - there are so many resistant strains out there. But he needs to stop the fighting, he needs some straight talk about HIV and AIDS, he needs someone to tell him he's a worthwhile human being and having traded sex for money doesn't change that. I figure you're the man for the mission."

"Sure thing, Jean. I don't know how much I can do for him, but I'll try."

"Thanks. I knew I could count on you." She smiled at him.

He smiled back. "Do you mind if I finish going through my inbox first?"

============================================================================================

Chapter 11: The Boy with the X-Ray Eyes

Bobby came up to me just as I was leaving Algebra. He touched me on the arm to get my attention and said, "Cyclops - Mr. Summers - wants to see you in his office."

"But I'm supposed to be in History next," I told him.

"That's okay. I'm sure he knows that. He'll square it with the teacher."

"Am I in trouble?" It wouldn't have been the first time, but it would have been the first time with _him_. I really didn't want to be in trouble with him.

"No, I don't think so. He didn't sound mad. Besides, he always tries to talk to the new kids. And he's been off on a mission so he probably didn't get a chance to talk to you before. Do you want me to show you to his office?" He took my arm.

"Yes, thanks. But you don't hold my arm - I hold yours. You haven't spent much time with blind people, I guess."

"Nope, sorry." He dropped my arm and I took his. We started walking. I kept track of where we were going so I could find my way back. "But you're not really blind, are you?"

"No, but I might as well be for now. I'm only opening my eyes for an hour a day. And since I came into my powers I haven't really been able to see most of the time, anyway."

"It's a hard time, Oliver," he said. "That period when you're still learning to control it. I remember it well. Of course, in my case, I was accidentally leaving people encased in blocks of ice. Tended to make me kind of unpopular."

We had arrived at Mr. Summers's office by this point. Bobby said goodbye and went off somewhere. I knocked and was told to come in and take a seat.

"You're pretty good with that cane," he said, as I entered the office, found a chair and sat down.

"I've had to be. I've been 'blind' for months now. I need it to get around. Plus I have been trying really hard not to let on that I'm a mutant. The cane helps with the verisimilitude."

"Good word, Oliver," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Dr. Grey tells me you're on a program now where you do some exercises with your vision but keep your eyes closed the rest of the time. How's that going?"

"Pretty good. I think I'm getting so I can control it. Not all the time, but sometimes I can just see normally. And sometimes I see through things when I want to, and only as far as I want to. More and more often I know what I'm looking at. I think I'll be able to get rid of the cane soon."

"Good. Good for you. So, what's the time frame here, Oliver? How old are you and how long since you came into your powers?"

I told him that I had just turned fifteen and that I'd come into my powers eight months ago.

He didn't say anything for a minute, maybe wondering where I'd been for the last eight months. Then, softly, "I had a cane like that when I was your age." I told him that I knew that. "I never managed to get control of my powers, unfortunately, but at least I can see now, with these," he went on. I could hear him tapping his glasses. "And I'm able to use my powers when I need to, with the help of a visor and electronic controls. Better living through technology."

I laughed at that a little. He told me he liked to see all the new kids, to talk to them about adjustment, about the curriculum and so on. And said that he had particularly wanted to talk to me because we had a lot in common. He said he didn't know any other mutants whose gifts were in their eyes. I was so thrilled that he thought we had something in common. Not so thrilled when he asked his next questions. "So, how are things so far? How are you getting along with the other kids?"

"Not so great. I mean, Dr. Grey probably told you I've gotten into some fights. I'm so happy to be here, really I am. You can't imagine what a relief it is to have somewhere to live, a place to be, a plan. And I'm trying to get along with the others, I'm trying hard. Bobby and John have both been great to me. But some of the guys in my dorm - well, they heard stuff about me and they've been calling me names. I know there's a no fighting rule but I can't take this lying down. What kind of man would I be if I did? But I don't want to screw things up here. Really. I want to stay. I have to stay."

He didn't answer for a while. When he did, he didn't even talk about the fighting at first. "Oliver," he said, "I know exactly what a relief it is to be off the streets. And I will tell you this for certain sure: you will stay here as long as you want to. We'll work things out. You can stay here until you finish school and then go somewhere else, if you want. Or you can stay on and join the team. Or teach. Or both. I came here when I was sixteen and haven't left yet. It's up to you what you do, and it's not something you need to decide yet. This is your home for as long as you need it to be, as long as you want it to be. Do you know Whitman, Oliver?"

I shook my head.

"Well, you will before I'm done with you. Anyway, your 'ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done.' Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good. Okay, now, about the fighting. Yes, you're right. We don't allow fighting. There are other ways to deal with conflict and we need to work on those with you. And with the other kids - it's not just you. And there are other outlets for aggression, too, you know - you're welcome to join the crowd that works out regularly in the Danger Room. You can be fighting robots all you want and sparring, under controlled conditions, with your teachers and classmates.

"I know it can seem kind of strange - everybody here takes self-defense classes so everybody learns to fight. And those who are interested in joining the X-Men learn more and practice more, even to the point of advanced combat training. So we teach you seventeen different ways to disable an attacker. And then we turn around and tell you that no fighting is allowed. It's a little paradoxical, I know. But, you know, life is full of contradictions. And a whole lot of self-defense is knowing when not to fight. This has to be a safe environment for all of us - physically and emotionally safe. So, no, you can't go around beating up people who call you names. There are other ways to show you're a man, Oliver. But they shouldn't be calling you names, either. That needs to be dealt with, too. Can you tell me about it?"

"I'm never going to get along with any of the kids here if I'm ratting on somebody the second week I get here. I know that might be hard for you to understand," I added, hoping he wouldn't press me.

He chuckled at that. "No, Oliver, I think I can understand that. In fact it was the same way back when I was a kid - when dinosaurs still roamed the earth. I'm not going to ask you who was calling you names. Can you tell me what happened, though? What did they call you? How did it come about? And then maybe we can come up with an action plan here. Together."

I took a deep breath. And turned my head away, which was kind of dumb since my eyes were closed anyway. It's not like I was looking at him or anything. "They've been calling me a faggot, saying I'm gay. And I don't know how much Dr. Grey told you but..." I felt like shit. I was almost crying, but managed not to, managed to get myself under control and continue. "Look, I'm not proud of it at all, but I didn't have any way to support myself. I got kicked out of my house when I came into my powers and I'm too young to even get fucking working papers - sorry - to even get working papers and I didn't know what to do for money. So, sometimes I let guys suck me off - they paid me for it. It was a way to get money. But it's nothing about me. I'm not a faggot - I hate guys like that. I can't stand faggots - I wouldn't have had anything to do with them if I didn't have to. I never did it to any of them, anyway. It's nothing about me," I said again. And then I didn't know what else to say.

"Oliver, there is so much to answer in what you just said," he told me, sounding sad. "I appreciate how hard it is to talk about, really. Look, you're not the only one. Not by a long shot. Kids come here who have been on the street and they've been doing what you did, or they've been working for drug dealers or they've been stealing. None of those things are good ways to make a living - and none of them are tolerated here. But you do what you have to to survive. It's a tough world out there. Particularly tough for people like us. We all do what we need to do."

And then I did cry. I mean, it wasn't what I expected at all from him. I thought he'd be shocked, thought he'd say something about how terrible what I did was. And he didn't - he talked like he understood, like he knew why I had to. So, there I go blubbering and apologizing for crying and feeling like a total jerk. And he tells me that the first time he cried after he came into his powers was when Professor Xavier came and got him to bring him here. And he hands me a box of tissues. So, I take one and wipe my eyes and then I just opened them - I don't know why.

"Hey, I can see you!" I said. And he asks me if I'm seeing his face or inside his head and if it's inside his head he really hopes there's a brain in there. And it's probably the stupidest joke I've heard in a long time but I laughed anyway because I knew he was just trying to make me feel better about crying and all. And then I said that maybe I should close my eyes but he said he didn't think I'd ruin my whole program if I talked to him with my eyes open for a few minutes.

He was looking at me very seriously. "Oliver, I am so sorry that you've been through this and I understand how hard it's been for you. But I'm still going to have to take exception to some of what you said. No, the other kids shouldn't be calling you homophobic slurs. But, you shouldn't be saying things like that, either. We do have a policy here of not tolerating hate speech. There are equally ugly words out there for mutants, you know. We, of all people, should know better than to hate a whole class of people just because they are a little different."

I told him that I think it's really different than being a mutant and that he didn't know how those queers treated me, what they did to me. So he tells me again that he doesn't want me talking like that. But he's saying all this shit like he's trying to help me, not like he's mad. And he tells me that there are girls here, too, who did sex work before they came here. And asks if I think that they should hate all straight men because of that. He did sort of have a point. And then he goes on and says that I should be careful how I talk about gay people because I might be offending somebody without knowing it, somebody I don't want to offend. Same as somebody could be saying something about mutants to me and not know they were making me mad.

"Hey, I know who's gay," I told him. "I can always tell."

He smiled this sort of half-smile. "I don't think anybody can always tell," he said, "but okay, Oliver. Let's say for argument's sake you can always tell if you're talking to a gay man or a lesbian. Fine. What if I tell you my brother is gay? Or my best friend. Don't you think it's going to make me pretty mad if you say the kind of things you've been saying? If you start with the idea that gay people are going to be offended by that kind of talk and add to it friends and relatives of gay people you get a pretty large group of people, you know. You're going to go around getting people pissed off at you if you use that kind of language, or if you start making those kinds of gross generalizations.

"We have this rule about hate speech for a good reason - we're a very diverse group and we live in close proximity. We eat and sleep and learn and work all in this one house - we need to be able to all get along. You don't have to like everybody; nobody likes everybody. You have to manage to get along though, and that includes not saying things that are going to offend some subset of the community. And the fact that you're hearing that kind of stuff from other kids tells me we haven't done a good enough job of communicating the importance of this rule. So, I'm going to talk to Professor Xavier and see what we can do about that."

We chatted a bit more after that. He told me he'd be in the Danger Room later in the afternoon with a few of the students and asked if I'd like to join them. And he told me that pretty soon I'd need to pick an advisor and start planning my coursework - said they had just put me in my current classes temporarily until I could work out with my advisor what I needed to take. And smiled at me again and said that he was sort of auditioning for the job. I was so psyched -I'd been scared to ask if he'd be my advisor. I left there feeling like I was walking on air. I'd gone in worried that he would kick me out of school and I left with an appointment for that afternoon in the Danger Room and the next day with my new advisor. I tried to wipe the silly grin off my face as I felt my way back to my dorm.

=========================================================================

Chapter 12: Stories of Wells and Dry Spells

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Back home, plus some business-related stuff

Well, I'm back to real life and it is feeling like quite an adjustment. I thought it would be lots easier than last time, since we had been together for months when I came home then. And then it had just been the two of us most of the time: "Arm'd and fearless - eating, drinking, sleeping, loving."

I didn't think a week was long enough to get accustomed to being with you. And we were so busy with the Alpha Flight people that it's not even like we were alone together that much. So, I figured it wouldn't feel like so much of a transition. But, if anything, it's harder this time. I really miss you, Logan. I feel like we were just getting started, just getting comfortable being together, particularly after all the drama in the beginning of the week. And then, before I knew it, the meetings were over and everybody was going their separate ways. Well, except for you and Jean-Paul, going back to Saskatchewan together.

I wish it were me with you instead. I think about you all the time. I keep replaying scenes in my mind. That time in the study - I can close my eyes and feel it all over again. You saying we need to call Saskatchewan and check something with 'Ro; me thinking you meant it. It certainly didn't occur to me that you would be planning on having sex there while half of Alpha Flight was just outside the study door, waiting for us to come back. But I suppose that's part of what made it so exciting - that and the fact that we hadn't done it for a few hours by that point.

Did you know I really meant to call her, that I had gone over to the desk to start dialing? It was a total surprise when you came up behind me like that, bent me over, undid my pants. I was scared, Logan, scared of getting caught. I almost told you to stop, but I've never been good at saying "no" to you.

I can still hear you whispering in my ear, telling me we had to be quiet, reminding me that the rest of them were just feet away from us. When you started fucking me I didn't think I could be quiet - it felt too good, too hot. But when you put your hand on my mouth and I sucked on your fingers while you moved inside me that helped - kept my mouth occupied, gave me something to focus on. The way you were fucking me - I thought I was going to come right then, Logan. I was scared I was going to come. But the sound of you whispering to me "Not yet, Scott", telling me to wait, it helped me hold on. I do try to do what you tell me to.

I remember just how it felt when you came, deep inside me, your voice in my ear so quiet, so unlike your usual growls. When you pushed me down in the desk chair I didn't know what you were going to do next. I didn't want to ask, afraid someone would hear. When you got down on your knees and finished me off with your mouth - well, I'm still trying to figure out how you got so good at that so quickly. The things you do with your tongue. And then I couldn't believe how quickly you were back to the meeting, back to business. I was sitting there in the living room, barely coping, hoping what I'm feeling doesn't show. And you're going on about independent water supply!

I'll tell you - I really hate doing without sex for weeks on end. I'm dreading another long dry spell. Still, at least we made the most of the time we had together. And you've given me a lot to think about on my lonely nights.

How are your nights? Have they still been peaceful? I think the herbal treatments must be helping. Have you ever gone a full week without a nightmare before? It was great being able to sleep with you, able to stay with you all night. Good to see you not worn out with dreams. 'Ro does know what she's doing. Pretty much, anyway. She didn't realize what the almond stuff was going to do to you but I don't suppose she could know what reacts with adamantium. Have you asked her what the stuff was? You should find out, just to be sure you avoid it in the future.

About 'Ro - I'm going to need to bring her back here, but I'll send you somebody else to work on this next phase with you. Or a couple of somebody elses, if you want. What kind of skills do you need at this point? You've got Jean-Paul and he can fly and also move at close to the speed of light. So he should be good for going places for you and bringing in supplies unnoticed. He's also an Olympic gold medalist (downhill skiing), not that I think your project particularly requires one. I just thought I'd throw it in to demonstrate the breadth of skills he's got. You're okay about him now, right? I mean, I know you were under the influence when you accused Jean-Paul and me of having an affair, but you had suggested before that you thought there might be something between us. There isn't, nothing beyond a friendly collegial relationship. I like him and he has a lot to say about some of the things I'm struggling with, personally. And I'm hoping you are finding him good to work with, too. Anyway, I'm thinking you'll want somebody with skills or powers complementary to Northstar's. Let me know what's most important to you and I'll try to come up with somebody suitable.

Jean and I have been talking a lot and we're both agreed that it's time to give up on the idea of marriage, make the separation permanent. And we also are both trying hard to renegotiate the relationship, to retain a lot of the closeness and friendship. It's what both she and I needed, regardless of what happens between you and me. So, I'm thanking you for giving me the push I needed to do it. I think Jean would probably thank you for pushing me, too.

Scott

P.S. So when do you think might be a good time for one of those progress-report-and-fucking trips to Westchester? Just so I can pencil it in on my calendar and make sure I'm not otherwise occupied. I wouldn't want to miss it. There's nothing like a good progress report.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Back home, plus some business-related stuff

You said, in part:  
&gt;Let me know what's most important to you  
&gt;and I'll try to  
&gt;come up with somebody suitable.

Okay, I think I need you here pretty soon. And no, this is not the sex portion of the message - I mean I need you for the project. Is it okay if I talk about independent water supply now, given that we haven't fucked for a few days? We need both independent electricity and water supply here. That makes us more self-sufficient and also makes it hard for anyone to guess how big an operation this is. Huge water or electric usage would be a dead giveaway. The property has its own generator but it uses the municipal water supply. What we're going to do is keep the house on municipal water, but come up with a whole additional water supply for the underground residences and other rooms. That way anyone with access to the utility bills will think it's just the same place it has always been.

So, we need to dig a well. And we need to do it soon -before the ground freezes. We should be closing on the property week after next. We don't have a lot of time after that until it gets cold up here. So, here's what I need, Scott, although I don't know how you're going to manage it: I need someone who can tell me where to dig the well. I don't suppose that's someone's mutant power, is it? Or that you have any geologists at that school? I really don't want to bring outsiders into this, but I need someone who can tell me what it looks like under the ground here.

Then, we need to actually dig the well. That's where you come in. Your blasts are more powerful and - even more important - much quieter than the explosives we would otherwise use to get through the rock here. I'm going to need you here for a few days. Jean-Paul and I can do the drilling and install the pump and other equipment after that.

And then, for the longer term, I'd like someone with some experience or skills in the building trades. But I'll take a novice if that's all you've got. The important thing is that he has to be willing to do hard manual work that's going to be slow going with just a few of us. If we're going to do this without being noticed it's going to take a while. Don't send me anybody who doesn't have the patience for it. And I know, I told you I'm not a patient man. This kind of thing I'm patient for. But I have no patience for someone who won't work hard and stick with this until it's done. You send me a whiner and I'm sending him back - and no guarantees on the condition he'll be in when you get him.

So, that's what I want. And I want you, Scott. The well wouldn't be the only drilling going on. Leaving was hard for me, too.

It's been fine with Jean-Paul. He's a hard worker and not a whiner. I trust you when you tell me there's nothing between you and him but friendship. He and 'Ro have been a good team for gathering the supplies we need. He flies them in and she gives cloud cover so nobody sees him.

I haven't had any more nightmares. Yes, you're right. 'Ro knows what she's doing with this herbal shit. I haven't had the heart to tell her what happened with that almond stuff, though - just said I didn't like the smell of it. It's great not to be afraid to go to sleep. I still wake up in the night, though. Not in a panic. Just wanting you, just remembering the times I woke you in the middle of the night. Remembering what we did. Thanks for the retelling of that time in the study. I like your stories, Scott. Real and imagined.

So, Cyclops, that's what I need and right away. You got someone who has chosen well sites before? Or better yet, someone who can see through solid rock? Well, send him on up. And haul your sorry ass up here, too. For business and for pleasure.

Logan

P.S. Say hi to Jeannie for me. Ask her if there's anything of mine she wants in return.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Back home, missing you, plus some business-related stuff

You said, in part:  
&gt; You got someone who has chosen well sites  
&gt; before? Or better yet,  
&gt; someone who can see through solid rock?

You know, I think I just might have the latter. I'll call or write again in a couple of days, when I know better.

You also said, in part:  
&gt; Say hi to Jeannie for me. Ask her if  
&gt; there's anything of mine she wants  
&gt; in return.

She wants your blood.

More later,

Scott

==========================================================================

Chapter 13: The Story of Oliver's First Mission

9/15  
I can't believe it. I've been here less than a month and I'm an X-Man. Well, just temporarily - as they keep reminding me - but still. I am so psyched. And Dr. Grey gave me this journal to write all about my first mission in. I'm going to write down absolutely everything that happens so I can always remember.

When I got called into Professor Xavier's office I was kind of nervous, wondering if I was in some kind of trouble. Even more worried when I got there and saw that Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey were there, too. But then they explained that they need somebody with my powers for an important mission they have coming up. And told me I didn't have to do it if I didn't want to but it would be a big help to the whole team. They kept saying that taking on this one mission isn't committing me to joining the X-Men, that there's plenty of time to decide between now and when I finish school. Yeah, right! Like I didn't want to be an X-Man from the first time I heard about it. Like I'm going to change my mind after I get to go on a real mission.

I'm getting the details on what I need to do in a couple of days, they said. And I'm not allowed to tell any of the other kids anything about it. But I can say I'm going on a mission and don't know when I'll be back. This is so cool. I wonder if I get to wear one of those uniforms. Do I get to call Mr. Summers "Cyclops"? Do I get a code name, too? I'd better think of a real kickass one, just in case.

9/16  
Well, I guess if I'm going to write everything down I should back up a bit. Things here have been kind of up and down for me. I am so glad to be off the streets and somewhere safe, somewhere where it's okay to be a mutant. Fuck, it's even good to be a mutant here! So, that's been really great And I like being back in a school. I always did well at school and it was always better at school than at home, even before I came into my powers and my parents kicked me out.

So, those are the plusses. Then there's the minuses. It's nice to feel safe but I hate that they treat me like a kid here! I mean, I know I'm a kid but I've been living on my own with nobody telling me what to do. It's hard to go back to a curfew and homework and rules. Although I have to say, everybody here has been great about that. I bet if I was in a regular school they wouldn't understand at all, but so many of the kids here were in the same boat and talk about the trouble they had adjusting, too. And, anyway, I'm so tired with the classes and the workouts in the Danger Room and the exercises I'm doing with my eyes that I couldn't stay awake past lights out if I tried. Not that lights out has meant much to me until recently. But it does now that I'm seeing again! Yay! But I'm not ready for that part yet.

Getting back to what I was saying, most of the rules haven't been so hard to follow. The tough one has been about no fighting. I mean, what am I supposed to do when somebody calls me a faggot? Yeah, like I'm really going to say that I don't want to hear "homophobic hate speech". I say something like that and they'll just think they were right. But actually it did work when Bobby said something just like that. They really stopped saying stuff about me after he yelled at them for it. I bet Mr. Summers put him up to it. Bobby's older and a real X-Man, so the guys listen to him. But it's not like if a teacher was there and they wouldn't have said it in the first place. Besides, nobody thinks that Bobby's gay so he can say whatever he wants.

Well, nobody would think I am either if I hadn't been sucking dick for a living for the past few months. I sort of wish I told Mr. Summers the truth about that. I don't know why I lied to him and said I just let those queers blow me - that I never did them. I wonder if Dr. Grey told him the truth. Well, if she did he has never let on. Never said anything about me lying or anything.

What's the story with those two, I wonder? The kids at school say they were going to get married, that they were living together. But then she cheated on him with that Logan guy and he got mad and broke up with her. Well, he doesn't seem mad at her. I see them together a lot, talking and laughing - you'd think they were best friends. I heard Jubilee and Kitty saying they think they'll get back together again, that they don't think Mr. Summers really spends the night in his own room. I wouldn't be surprised -she's gorgeous. Still, if she did cheat on him...

So, almost everybody here seems scared of Logan. He sounds like a real dangerous guy - I'm going to find out for myself because he's part of the mission. They say he has nine-inch metal claws coming out of his hands and he'd just as soon carve you up with them as look at you. I heard Mr. Summers really couldn't stand him from the start - there have been all sorts of stories about the two of them fighting. But I tried asking him about Logan and he said that he's a little bit hard to get to know, but that they are very close friends. Well, maybe he doesn't want to tell me the truth, particularly if it has to do with Dr. Grey. But I've seen the holes in the desk in Mr. Summers's office - just the right number for those adamantium claws. I bet I know what happened. I bet they were fighting and Logan pointed the claws at him and said he was going to cut him. And Mr. Summers told him he could blast him before he even managed to reach across the desk. So he just cut up the desk because he was mad and frustrated and knew those Cyclops optic blasts are way more powerful.

So, anyway, this Logan is heading up some secret project and Mr. Summers said he'd help him out. And he needs somebody who can see through things and that's me. They said they'll give me more details on what I have to do and where we're going pretty soon. I know it's out of the country, though. They gave me some fake identification papers that show me as being older. Professor X said it's because they don't want us to call attention to ourselves going over the border and a minor without parents gets a lot of scrutiny. It's going to be Mr. Summers and me going. Only I'm supposed to call him "Scott" on the mission, since we're just supposed to be two friends traveling together and I'm not supposed to be a kid. People always tell me I look older than my age, anyway.

It's like a whole new life now that I can control my powers. I can see normally or I can see through stuff - I'm controlling it almost all the time now. It seemed like I'd never see and now it's just so easy I can't believe I couldn't do it before. It's like when I was a little kid learning to ride a bike, falling down again and again. And then suddenly you know how to balance and you can't understand why it was so hard before.

So, things have really been looking up lately, even before the mission came along (and when are they going to tell me more details? I can't stand waiting!). I'm getting along better with the other guys, I can see, and I'm spending lots of time with Mr. Summers -Scott - between advisement sessions and the Danger Room and the poetry class he teaches. I wasn't going to sign up for it but he asked me to. He told me it was all girls last year and it got a little weird and he wanted to change the dynamic a bit. And then he put on this deep, lumberjack-like voice and said "Real men read poetry, Oliver" just to make me laugh. And promised me lots of good stuff to read. It's been great so far, although it is mostly girls and they are just mooning and sighing over Mr. Summers the whole time. Well, that's okay with me. Several of them are real cute and x-ray vision gives a whole new dimension to girl-watching. I don't have to look at a girl and just wonder what she looks like naked anymore - I can see for myself...

But, anyway, the very first day we read this poem by Robert Service, called "My Friends". It's like telling a story but it's a poem. All about this guy way up north in the Yukon and he's dying and his two friends are a murderer and a thief. They manage to keep him alive long enough to get him to the Mountie post where he gets a doctor and they get arrested. And it's all about how what they did in the past doesn't matter as much as who they are now and what they are willing to sacrifice to save him. I wonder if Scott picked that poem for me. I like the ending of it:

"And there was my friend the murderer, and there was my friend the thief,  
With bracelets of steel around their wrists, and wicked beyond belief:  
But when they come to God's judgment seat--may I be allowed the brief."

9/17  
We're leaving tomorrow! And I am packing a uniform, just in case, although they said we probably won't use them. Scott gave me one of his and it fits perfectly. I tried it on in the dorm and then just wore it while I was doing my homework, just to make sure it was comfortable. The guys were all totally green.

So, we're flying to Buffalo and then driving from there to Toronto. We'll be staying overnight at Alpha Flight headquarters there - they are like the X-Men, only they're part of the Canadian government or something. And Scott told me their leaders aren't even mutants - just the Alpha Flight operatives themselves. I can't believe that there are regular humans who would choose to work with a team of mutants. I wish my parents could hear about this. I wonder if it would make a difference to them, if they realized that some people think it's okay to be a mutant. I wonder if they even think about me. Maybe they're sorry they kicked me out. Yeah, and maybe pigs can fly, too.

Anyway, the project is in Saskatchewan, which is way out in the western part of Canada. I think I should have paid more attention in geography classes - I never heard of Saskatchewan. And it's a joint project of the X-Men and Alpha Flight. We're building a secret center way up north and in the middle of nowhere. It sounds like one of those places Robert Service writes about - maybe that's why Scott has been reading his poems. So, we're checking in with Alpha Flight and then going to the new center. I'm supposed to use my vision to figure out where they are going to dig a well. I sure hope my sight works this time. It's been really working good, lately. I think I've got the hang of it. But what if I can't see when I'm there? What if I can't control it? I'm getting nervous about this. I could be a hero or a useless dork. It all depends on my eyes.

======================================================================================

Chapter 14: The Story of What Oliver Saw

Oh, God! I don't know what to do. Scott knocked on my door just now and I couldn't face him. I told him that I couldn't talk to him, that I would be downstairs later. Didn't even come up with an excuse or anything. He'll probably ask Jean-Paul. What will he tell him? What does he know? I just don't know what to say to him. I don't even know what I'm feeling.

Well, embarrassed, for sure. And mad - why was he lying to me? Only I think I know the answer to that one. Hell, I'd lie to me, too, if I was him. I wasn't exactly acting like somebody who could handle the truth. But why does that have to be the truth? Why does he have to be that way? I can't believe it. It's like in that poem - it's "all like a lurid dream". But it's not a dream, it's real. He's the one person I've met since I came into my powers that I really, really wanted to be like. The one grown up who I thought understood what's happening with me. And he made me feel like I'm okay, like I'm normal. But look who's talking.

Okay, backing up. It started out like such a good day. We had breakfast with Heather and Mac. Scott thanked them for putting us up at Alpha Flight headquarters and said that he thought their meetings had been fruitful. I told them I had enjoyed my day out and about and asked them to thank Walter again for showing me around Toronto.

Heather took us to the airport. She and Scott were talking about Northstar on the way. Scott said he'd heard that some of the Alpha Flight guys had given Jean-Paul a hard time when he came out, but that Heather and Mac had stood by him. And, okay, I was kind of seeing that could be a good thing. But I was still trying to understand it. And it felt like something I could talk about with them. So, I said to Heather, "But do you think it's fair to make other guys work with him? I mean, aren't they scared that he'll try something with them?"

And she laughed and said, "Only if they overestimate their own attractiveness, I think. You know, I work with heterosexual men all the time. I'm not scared of them. I don't assume they are all attracted to me just because they're attracted to some women. And, if they are, I assume they can control themselves." That gave me something to think about.

When we were on the plane, I brought what she said up with Scott. "Do you think she's right?" I asked. "Do you think gay guys can control themselves, just like I'm not jumping the bones of every cute girl in class?"

He laughed at that. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're not, Oliver. And, yes, I think it's fair to say that controlling sexual impulses has nothing to do with sexual orientation. Most people control themselves most of the time, don't you think? I would think that's true whether you're gay or straight."

"Yeah, well maybe I wasn't exactly in a position to meet lots of gay guys with self-control, if you know what I mean," I said to him. I meant it sort of sarcastically, but he said I had a good point, that I was meeting a pretty atypical - and not very praiseworthy - subset. And said again about girls who had been turning tricks not getting a really accurate picture of what straight guys are like. So I said that's why it was important that they have teachers like him. No matter how those girls are all fawning all over him he always treats them professionally. He never flirts with them, even, makes clear that he's not after any teenage girls. So if any of those girls with crushes on him were hookers before they can see that there are straight men who are different, who will treat them with respect. He really blushed at that - I didn't know if he was just embarrassed that I was saying nice stuff about him or if he thought I was hinting that he should tell me which of the girls at school had done sex trade before. But I wouldn't - I know it's none of my business.

So, anyway, he says that he realizes I'm not totally comfortable with this whole gay thing yet but that he expects me to treat Jean-Paul with respect, as a valuable and trusted colleague. And I tell him I will and he tells me that he knew he could count on me and he knows that Jean-Paul will treat me like that, too. And, really, I'm thinking more about being a colleague, being a member of the team than I am about this gay stuff, anyway. So, I figure that's good -just don't think about it. Think about the other stuff - the mission, my part in it.

And it was such a good trip, just me and Scott the whole plane ride and then driving from Regina to the place where they're building the center. It's near Prince Albert which is hours away from Regina and right out in the middle of nowhere. So, we're talking in the rental car the whole time - telling jokes, trading stories, singing along with the radio. And Scott told me he's really proud of how I'm adjusting and how I haven't been getting into fights any more. He said he really understands how hard it can be to come off the streets, that sometimes something can be really hard to do even though you want it more than anything. And I felt like he really did understand, like he was somebody who really knew what I'd been through. We were driving for almost four hours but the time just flew and before I know it we're pulling up this long drive and we're at a big, kind of ramshackle-looking house.

We stop the car and these two guys come out of the house to meet us. One of them comes right up to Scott and they greet and hug each other and they're talking in French together, so that's got to be Jean-Paul. The other one, Logan, just stands by the door of the house looking at us.

So then Scott and me, we walk over to the house and Scott says "Hi, Logan" and he says "Hi, Scott". He's a little different than I thought he'd be - not tall, not big really, but real strong-looking. And kind of wild-looking, kind of animal-like. "Oliver?" he says and I say "yes" and he shakes my hand, saying "X-ray eyes, right? Good. We need you." And then he looks at Scott and I could tell something was going on but I didn't know what. Thought maybe he was mad at him for something, just looking at him real hard and intense like that. Then he kind of jerks his head towards the house and turns around and goes in and Scott follows right after him, without a word, like a puppy or something. So, I'm standing out there not knowing what to do with myself and then Jean-Paul says he'll show me to my room.

It's a nice room, with a big window looking out at the woods out back. I was hoping I get to be here a long time - having my own room is great. Makes me remember my room back home. Back when I had a room and a home. Jean-Paul tells me he'll leave me to unpack and then he can show me around if I want. I asked him if I should wait for Scott and we could get a tour together and he just says, "Logan and Scott haven't seen each other for a while. Let's give them some time to catch up." So, he tells me he'll be downstairs in the living room and just come down whenever I'm ready.

Really, that's all I was going to do. I unpacked, looked at the books on the shelves a bit, thought a little more about being here and having my own room. Practiced with my eyes, just a bit, just to make sure I could still do it - looking in the desk and seeing the papers and stuff without opening the drawers. And then I walked out the door and was going to go down the stairs.

But I'm going down the hall to the stairs and I hear voices inside one room a ways down - Scott's voice and Logan's. And I couldn't hear words at first - I wasn't that close - but I could swear Scott's upset, even crying maybe. Something was wrong, I knew it, so I go right up to the door wondering what to do. And without really thinking about doing it I just looked through the door and the wall.

They were on the floor, Scott lying face down and Logan on top of him. Logan had him pinned down, had his hands over Scott's so he couldn't reach for his glasses and use his blasts, had his whole body on top of him, pushing him down. And he was fucking him. It took me a minute to realize that's what was happening - I couldn't believe it. He was raping him and that's what those sounds were, Scott trying to get away, trying to get help. And I just kind of stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do. I knew I had to rescue him somehow, but how? I didn't know what to do. Should I try to break in? Should I call Jean-Paul? So, I'm just standing there and I'm right outside the door now and I see Scott manage to raise his head just a bit, even though Logan's head is on top of his and holding him down. And I'm close so I can hear him when he talks and he just says one word but he says it loud and insistent: "Harder!"

Oh, God. I couldn't believe it at first. I thought I heard him wrong - thought maybe he had called my name, wanted me to rescue him. "Oliver" could sound a little like that. But then Logan starts fucking him harder and saying "Like this, Scott?" and Scott's saying "Oh, yes" and there's no mistaking that for a call to be rescued. And then I had to believe it. Just wished and wished it wasn't true.

So I'm just standing there, all shocked and embarrassed and upset and not knowing what to do now and I turn my head away from the door and Jean-Paul's there at the top of the stairs. Looking at me. Seeing me looking in. But he doesn't say anything about that and just says, calm as can be, "So, Oliver? Why don't we go downstairs now? I'll show you around." But I don't say anything and I don't move, just stand there outside of that room. So, he comes over to me and takes my arm to like get me to come with him and I just yell at him "Take your fucking hands off of me!" and run back into my room and shut the door.

And now I don't know what to do and what to say. I wish I never came here. I wish I never came to Xavier's, never met Scott. I don't want to think about any of this. But it's all I can think about.

===========================================================================

Chapter 15: The Story of the Last Night

I knew he wasn't going to like it. That's why I waited to tell him - didn't want to spoil the visit. Still, it was getting late. At dinner on his last night here he told Oliver they should both pack up that evening since they'd be leaving early in the morning. Oliver shot me this look that clearly said, "So when are you going to tell him?" I tried giving him one back that said, "When he's feeling more compliant, maybe after I fuck him tonight," but I'm not sure my look was quite as clear.

When we got to my room I told him to take off all of his clothes. Just looked at him for a few minutes. Then I went over to the bed, sat down, told him to come over and stand in front of me. Stroked him a little, sucked him a little, asked him what he wanted me to do. "Fuck me, Logan," he said. "Please."

I told him to get down on the floor on all fours. Got him ready, got on top of him. Didn't put it in, though, just lay there on his back with my cock right at the opening. "Ask me again," I said, and he did. So, I pushed into him, a bit at a time, until my balls were pressed tight against him. Started fucking him slow and deep, pulling on his cock with my hand with each stroke. "Do you like it like that, Scott?" I asked.

"Oh yes, Logan," he said. "Make it last a long time."

I kept going slow. Feeling a little chatty, maybe because he was leaving. "This is how I did you the first time we fucked, Scott," I reminded him. "On the floor in that motel in Medicine Hat."

"That was the second time, but who's counting." Pushing back slow, meeting my strokes.

I laughed, told him I'd forgotten, that it had felt like the first time. And then talked to him just like I had that time. "I love riding you, Scott. Your cock is so hard in my hand. Your ass is so tight and hot. Nobody feels like you, Scott."

And he answered me like back then, too. "I missed you, Logan. I want you all the time. I belong to you, Logan."

The talking was making me hotter and I was fucking him harder and faster now. Pushing on his prostate; tugging on his cock. Loving the sounds he makes, almost there. "Come for me, Scott," I told him. "Come hard." And he did, moaning and whimpering a little. Then I told him to stay real still while I finished, humping him hard and letting the claws come out with the cum. It was good, so good. I knew I was going to miss this.

Got into bed with him afterwards and told him that. "Me, too," he said. "I keep trying to think of some way to stay longer, but I can't. I need to get back home, back to work. Oliver needs to get back to school."

I figured it was time to tell him. Past time. "Oliver's not going back with you, Scott. Not yet. He's staying here with me and Jean-Paul. Just for a few more weeks. I've got work for him to do."

"He can't, Logan. I'll send you somebody else, someone long term. He needs to go back to school."

"Not yet. There's not just the well, you know. I need to map out this whole property, figure out what's underground, see where it's best to build. I've got somebody here with x-ray eyes, I'm going to make the most of him. It's all decided."

"What do you mean 'it's all decided'? You can't decide this stuff. I'm sorry, Logan, but I'm responsible for him. I need to make these decisions. I'm in loco parentis."

"I wouldn't worry about that, Cyclops. You're doing better than his parents, anyway. They threw him out to starve. And he would have if he hadn't been a rent boy." Waited a while. "Just like you."

"How do you know what Oliver did when he was on the street?" I told him Oliver had told me. He looked surprised. I said I hadn't told Oliver they had that in common, but I did wonder why he hadn't told him.

"I don't know. I didn't think it would help him. I didn't think it was his business. I don't even know why we're talking about this, anyway. The point is - Oliver's leaving with me."

"No, he's not, Scott."

"He'll never be willing to stay here with you."

"He wants to stay here. He's been giving me a hard time for not telling you earlier." He kind of sputtered a little at that, didn't know what to say. "He wants to be useful, wants to make the most of his powers. He's looking forward to working on this a bit longer. And Scott, I don't know what the deal is, but he seems a little uncomfortable around you. Have you noticed? Maybe it's better for him if the two of you are apart for a while. Is he mad at you for something?"

He didn't answer for a long while. The red glow behind his glasses disappeared as he closed his eyes. "He saw us fucking," he said, finally. "With his x-ray vision. It's changed how he thinks of me, I guess. He feels awkward. Maybe mad, too. I'm not sure."

"But he's fine with me. How come?"

"I don't know. Maybe he thinks it only counts if you're the bottom. Or maybe because I hadn't told him about you and me - he thought it was rape at first, thought he was going to rescue me. So he might feel bad about misunderstanding what was going on. Might be mad at me for not telling him what was going on. I don't know. I can't be expected to unravel the psycho-sexual weirdnesses of a mixed-up teenager."

I told him I didn't think that being mad when someone lied to you was particularly weird or particularly mixed up.

"I'm not discussing this, Logan," he said, sounding really mad now. "The point is: Oliver's coming home with me tomorrow. That's final."

"No, he's not. He'll be fine here. Look, we'll work as fast as we can. I'll keep it to just two or three weeks if I can, okay? And then we won't just put him on a plane. Jean-Paul or I will bring him home when I'm done with him."

"Done with him?" His eyes were open again, the red glow looking brighter, angrier. "How about me, Logan? You done with me? You moving on to Oliver?"

I didn't hit him. I'm pretty proud of myself for that. Just said "I don't fuck kids. I hate people who fuck kids." He said that Oliver doesn't look like a kid and I told him I don't think that has anything to do with anything.

"Why didn't you tell him about you and me, Scott?" I asked, figuring I'd better change the subject if I was going to keep on not hitting him.

"I didn't think he could handle it. He's got a lot of issues about gay men. I didn't think it would be good for him to know."

"Well, now he knows. Knows that we fuck, anyway. Have you talked to him about us, or just about what he saw? Does he think that's all it is? Does he have any idea what you and me were to each other?"

The "were" hung between us. I could almost see it there in the air. Wished I could pull it back. Waited for him to ask me if I meant it, but he didn't. Didn't say anything. Neither did I. We just lay there silently for a long time. "What about his studies?" he said, finally.

I told him we had that worked out. He'd learn some stuff. Jean-Paul was going to teach him French; I'd teach him wilderness survival. He'd learn some important skills. He could pick up with his regular classes back in Westchester.

Scott listened to the plans. He asked a couple of questions. He never said "okay" but he stopped saying "no" and I left it at that.

Jean-Paul took him to the airport the next day. Oliver and I stayed and worked. The three of us worked all the following day. And lots of days after that, all the daylight hours.

We were a good team. Worked hard, no whining. "Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men". Still thinking of some of the poems he taught me sometimes. Still thinking of him, sometimes.

 

In the evenings I'd go out. I found a place around forty miles away - a truck stop. I'd sit there and drink coffee and wait for the right one. Right one for that night, anyway. Someone tall and thin, maybe with long fingers and a wry kind of smile, too. The right smell when he looked at me - fear and sex all mixed together. Meet his gaze, leave with him. Fuck him in his truck and then go back to the house.

If I got back early, Jean-Paul and Oliver would be up, playing chess or reviewing irregular verbs. They never asked me where I'd been. If it was late, the house would be dark.

Scott called most nights. The first few times Jean-Paul told me he called, said he wanted me to call him back. After that he stopped saying, although I'd hear him on the phone with Scott sometimes. I don't know if he stopped asking for me or Jean-Paul just felt it wasn't worth passing on the message any more.

I called him when we were done surveying the property. "Come pick him up, Scott," I said. "I know a place you can land the Blackbird. It's far enough away from everything. No one will see you. I'll give you the coordinates."

The three of us went there through the woods. Oliver was doing good, kept up with us, didn't leave a trail. He'd learned a lot.

The jet was there. Scott got out. Hugged Jean-Paul, shook Oliver's hand. Didn't touch me. Just said he wanted to talk to me for a minute. We walked off a ways from the other two. "We need you to come back to Westchester for a couple of days," he said. "I tried to talk to you about it on the phone, but you hung up too quickly. Charles wants you to report on what's happened so far and we need to figure out who's coming up here next."

I told him I didn't think it was such a good idea. "It's not personal, Logan," he said. "I'm not asking you to come for my sake. We're ready for the next stage. I don't want to just send you workers - we need to send people who are going to make their home up here. So we need to meet and figure out who would be good. Mutant homesteaders, you said. That's what we need to talk about. It's better if you meet them before they come up here, make sure we're coming up with suitable residents. They'll be the nucleus of the community here."

I told him I'd go with him. "Scott," I added. "I don't know if it still matters to you, but I told you I'd let you know if I had anybody else. Well, I'm letting you know."

"Anyone I know?" he asked, trying not to sound bitter. Failing.

"Nah. Nobody I know either. A bunch of nobodies."

"Why, Logan?"

"I don't know. Something to do in the night."

"I've tried to call you at night."

"I know."

"I'm sorry, Logan. Sorry for what I said about Oliver."

"I know that, too."

"If I could un-say it, I would. If I could turn time back to just before I said it, I'd keep my fucking mouth shut." I didn't say anything. Kept my fucking mouth shut.

We flew back mostly in silence. It was late when we got there and most everyone was asleep. 'Ro was up, though. She asked what had happened on the project since she left and showed me to the room I'd be staying in.

I couldn't go to sleep. Lying there in the dark, thinking of the choices I'd made and where I'd ended up. I was just about ready to give up on sleeping and go for a swim or something when I heard a knock on my door. "You want something to do in the night?" he asked. I did.

It was good, but with a layer of sadness. Still, reminded me of what I was missing with those truckers. They might look a little like him, they might smell a little like him. It wasn't the same, though.

I met with the professor the next morning. Met some of the people they were thinking of sending me. One couple seemed like the best for the start. He's a building contractor and she's a cabinetmaker. They had a nice little business going out of their home in Vermont until the townspeople found out they're mutants. Then there wasn't any home any more. They have a baby daughter, though. I wasn't sure how they'd manage with a baby girl up there, but they didn't seem so worried. We agreed they'd meet me there in a week's time - they'd be driving.

I stayed one more night. This time I went to him. Stayed in his/my room most of the night. We fucked; we held each other. Told stories. "I still love you, Logan," he said. "Do you love me? Do you forgive me?" I told him I wasn't mad any more. Said I didn't know about the love stuff.

Lied to him, though. I knew. Just didn't know what to do about it. When I left, he was still sleeping.

==================================================================

Postscript: Literature Guide for Canadian Nights

I received such positive feedback on the literature guide I put together to go with the first two series in this saga, that I figured I would do it again for "Canadian Nights." As was the case with the previous literature guide, this one does contain spoilers, so it should be read after reading "Canadian Nights."

Scott Summers (in this incarnation) is: a mutant superhero, really good at giving blow jobs, a funny guy with a joke for most any occasion, and an English teacher. So the stories are full of quotes from poems and other literature. The following gives a little information on the works quoted and urls to read the complete works, where possible.

 

Unifying Story Structure

 

The series is called "Canadian Nights" because of its connection to Arabian Nights. The connection begins with the first story in which Scott says that for a period in his youth he felt like Scheherazade, trying to please the man with the Manhattan pied-a-terre for just one more night. It continues through the last story, in which Logan, like King Sharyar, takes a different lover every night once he becomes disappointed in love. In between there are a lot of references to stories and storytelling. Scott is a storytelling kind of guy, and tries to entertain and interest Logan both with stories of his past and with phone sex tales. He also makes up the story about the aliens who like "Cats" to amuse Jean. In addition, Mac and Oliver both tell stories that are central to the plot of the series.

Arabian Nights, also known as 1001 Nights or Scheherazade and the Thousand and One Nights, is a collection of traditional Arabic, Persian and Indian folktales with a unifying story structure connecting them. There are many different versions of the work, with no one definitive text. The story tells of a sultan, King Sharyar, whose wife commits adultery. He has her executed but also decides to take his revenge on all women, concluding that all are faithless. So he has a succession of young women brought to him, one each night. He spends the night with each woman and has her executed the next morning, so she will never have a chance to cheat on him.

This goes on for some time and the kingdom is running out of young women. Enter Scheherazade, who is the vizier's daughter and, in the way of folk hero(ine)s is brave and resourceful and clever. She volunteers to be the next victim of Sharyar. But after sex she tells him a story, stopping at a crucial point. He wants to hear what happens in the end and lets her live another day.

Each night she tells him a story and each night she stops at an exciting place, leading the king to let her live another day and night to find out what happens. The stories she tells are the folk tales that make up the volume. After 1001 nights (and after she has borne him three children in that time) she begs him to let her live. He enthusiastically agrees and expresses regret over all the women he killed previously. Not exactly a model relationship, but interesting.

Some of the stories that Scheherazade tells have become quite well-known on their own. Chief among these are the story of Aladdin and the lamp and the story of Ali Baba and the forty thieves. The collection is also often published as a children's book, with much of the sex and violence expurgated.

The web site www.arabiannights.orgsongs free donlowd has the full text of two well-known versions of Arabian Nights along with a lot of information about the book and some great illustrations.

 

Poems

 

George Gordon Byron (Lord Byron). "We'll Go No More A-Roving".  
Scott alludes to this one in the story about Jack the Boy Scout. He has the one encounter with Jack, who then snubs him, and Scott says that he "went no more a-roving." He is probably thinking of this stanza:  
"Though the night was made for loving,  
And the day returns too soon,  
Yet we'll go no more a-roving  
By the light of the moon."  
The entire poem can be read at http://www.bartleby.com/101/599.html.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. "Kubla Khan"  
Scott recites this fantasy story-poem in response to Logan's anxious request that he say a poem or a story unrelated to them or anything they know. It also provides the title for the story it appears in: "The Demon-Lover." The title foreshadows what the almond-scented oil does to Logan, turning him into a demon lover of sorts. It is available at http://www.bartleby.com/101/550.html.

T.S. Eliot. "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock".  
This poem, which featured largely in my second Scott/Logan series, "We're Not What You Think," makes a couple of appearances in "Canadian Nights." Scott, in trying to explain to Logan how hard it is for him not to conform to the expectations of others, says that he is someone who doesn't "dare disturb the universe." Later on he jokes with Jean about writing a musical comedy based on Prufrock. She alludes to Scott's Prufrock tendencies by saying that he will have to play the lead. You can read the poem at http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html.

Christina Rossetti. "Is it Well with the Child?"  
Scott quotes this poem just as he's warming up for phone sex, trying to get Logan to shake off the aftereffects of his nightmare, telling him that he is "Safe from the frost and the snow, Safe from the storm and the sun." The poem is brief and available at http://www.bartleby.com/101/786.html.

Carl Sandburg. "Killers"  
This is another one of Sandburg's poems about World War I, following on the use of "Murmurings in a Field Hospital" in the previous series. It is a brief, very powerful, poem depicting the millions of men who are killing in that war. The poet prefaces the discussion of the killers with a brief stanza about his feelings in talking about the subject. It is this preamble that Scott quotes, saying that Logan's uncharacteristic softness of voice reminds him of the line "Soft as a man with a dead child speaks." He then remembers that the following lines are "Hard as a man in handcuffs, Held where he cannot move" recognizing that he was being physically held where he could not move but that Logan also was being held by something (although they don't yet know what). Read the whole poem at http://www.bartleby.com/165/67.html.

Robert Service.  
Several different poems by Robert Service are quoted in the series. Many of Service's poems tell stories, fitting in with the story-within-a-story theme of this series. Service is generally considered to be one of the premier Canadian poets and Mac is quite fond of his work and quotes him more than once. Service wrote a lot of poems about rugged men in northern climes and I had decided up front that in this series I wanted to use one that was evocative of Logan - the problem was choosing! So many of the Service poems sound a lot like Logan, or at least the version of him I've developed for these stories. Here's a little bit of information on the ones I used:

"The Men That Don't Fit In" - Mac quotes the beginning of this poem, saying it reminds him of Logan. Scott wonders if he means it as a warning to him, that Logan will break his heart. However, it could apply, in a different way, to Scott. It is because he is trying too hard to fit in that he himself "breaks the hearts of kith and kin".   
The poem also has this line (speaking again of this race of men who can't fit in): "They are strong and brave and true." It's evocative of the "good and strong and brave" line that both Logan and Scott have used since the first series. Read the poem at http://www.arcticculture.about.com/culture/arcticculture/library/service/bl-spell19.htm.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on canon: I have borrowed concepts and characters from assorted Marvel comic book titles as well but have not tried in any way to make the stories consistent with the comic books (as far as I can tell, Marvel has despaired of making the comic books consistent with each other). Similarly for the novelization of the movie and for other X-Men books. I've looked on all of those resources as fodder for ideas but have felt bound only to be consistent with what is presented in the movie and with the previous stories in this series.
> 
> Literature Guide: I received such positive feedback on the literature guide I put together to go with the first two series in this saga, that I figured I would do it again for "Canadian Nights." As was the case with the previous literature guide, this one does contain spoilers, so it should be read after reading "Canadian Nights." It can be found at the end of this series.
> 
> Notes on locations in the stories: Except in the first series, which all takes place at Xavier's school in Westchester, my characters move around a lot. All of the locations, save one, are genuine and described as realistically as I can manage. I have been to some, but not all of them. The one invented location is the one I was stuck with by Marvel - there is no town in Westchester County called Salem Center, although there is a North Salem. But, if there were a Salem Center, the way to get there from New York City would be by taking a train from Grand Central Station, as Scott does in this series.
> 
> The sequel to this series is "Night and Day." A one-shot story called "What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been" expands on events mentioned in the end of this series.


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